All Our Guard Dogs
by Alma Heart
Summary: The Guardian and the Telepath: Cadmus, team year -2. Cadmus means something to protect. Jim thought he needed that. He'll take the headaches if that's the price. But Cadmus is dangerous. Dubbilex knows this better than any. The genomorphs need their hero. He must create it. He has no thoughts to spare for humans. Protecting anything in this maze of lies comes at a cost.
1. Prologue: A Man Called Jim Harper

**Warning:** This story contains serious mind control, skewed-telepath-priorities, probably what amounts to psychological torture, all that fun Cadmus stuff, as well as medium level violence, and somewhat unavoidable office difficulties.

Mild spoilers in regards to who/what Jim is as of Season 2. I adore Jim. To death. Almost literally.

Cadmus is freaky, guys. Really freaky.

Chapter warnings: mind-twisting.

* * *

Nervous murmuring from the gnomes preceded Luthor's arrival. Dubbilex sent out soothing thoughts through the psychic web between them to quiet their humming unease. He remained physically at work, casting his mind towards the upper world to investigate.

There, through the eyes of a gnome crouched on Desmond's desk (poor little brother), Dubbilex first saw the man called Jim Harper. He was tall, broad, yet moved with a carefulness at odds with his size. Harper looked at everything as if slightly lost as he trailed after Luthor into the office. Wariness drifted off the man in waves, but he came forward anyway.

Dubbilex did not much care for Luthor, but the bald man was an improvement over Desmond, at any rate. Luthor spoke to Jim Harper in charming tones (though he called him "James"), an odd significance suffusing his words, weighting certain ones so they fell strangely. Dubbilex drew back, startled, when he saw those innocuous words refract about inside Jim Harper's mind, twisting and switching subconscious thoughts as if hitting triggers. There was something…wrong in Jim Harper's mind, something Luthor turned and molded with each carefully dropped phrase. Harper did not even know. That made him dangerous.

Before Dubbilex could trace exactly what had changed within Jim Harper's mind, the gnome feeding information skittered a step back as a flustered attendant burst through the door. "Doctor Desmond, we need you down on Sub-level six."

"I told you I was not to be disturbed!" Desmond's eyes darted between the gnome on the table and Luthor. He did not even look at his assistant.

"But, sir…the specimen's neural evolution just changed paths, and if this trajectory isn't dealt with now it might negatively impact-!"

That did not bode well. Leaving most of his attention on the office, Dubbilex reached out to the gnomes on the sub-level near the project. They reported no danger, only that the Match seemed to be displaying unusual aggression levels. It discomfited Dubbilex. He had always known his elder brother to be different, special in some way more than any other genomorph, but more recently Dubbilex had felt there was something wrong, something off in the Match's mind that no allowed difference could account for.

"There's no need to be angry." Luthor's voice was smooth, yet it cut through Desmond's snarl effortlessly, fixing everyone's attention on the man in his impeccable suit. "This project is of great importance to me, Dr. Desmond, and so I see no reason to risk its success. We can delay our meeting for the moment, can't we, Mr. Harper?"

Jim Harper stirred, glancing uneasily from one man to the other. "Of course." Desmond's outburst disconcerted him, and Dubbilex could hear suspicion begin a subtle hiss in Jim Harper's thoughts, as he watched the significant looks passing between Luthor and Desmond. It seemed Jim Harper was not a fool.

Luthor smiled a bright, nonthreatening smile with all his teeth, the kind that set Dubbilex's whiskers on edge. "It's settled then. Dr. Desmond, I think I will accompany you to check in on the project's development."

Desmond nearly dropped his files; he caught himself, but Dubbilex felt the twitch in his ligaments. "Mr. Luthor, that is hardly necessary. We can't leave…!" His phenomenally failed attempt at subtlety indicated the third occupant of the room, who had already heard a dangerous amount. Harper noticed the gesture, tensing as if to step back.

Dubbilex frowned. Desmond was a fool. Now they would have to keep Harper.

Luthor stood contented in his small smirk. "Don't fret, Doctor. Our new associate will give us no trouble, I have no doubt. He's a good man." He gave Harper a passing glance, his thoughts clinking like gears and coins, decidedly assessive, as of property. Like the looks he gave Dubbilex, his insides a web of a thousand sharp gold points.

Dubbilex paused. Harper wasn't trying to leave. Even his wariness moved with strange slowness, taking far longer than it should have to develop into recognition of danger.

Desmond grumbled and tapped his teeth. He wanted to talk to Luthor about proper contingencies to control the newcomer, plans tinged with frustration, tense and hateful in his mind. Luthor remained formidably serene, and pleased. Stepping towards the door, he forced Desmond to give ground to maintain the illusion of agreement. Luthor reveled in Desmond's anger in the cold, distant fashion of a g-elf hunting a target.

Pausing at the door, Luthor spoke to gnome still perched on the table. "Wipe what he heard of Project Match from his mind, and hold him until we return."

Ah. So he never intended to leave Jim Harper to his own devices. The gnome obeyed, latching onto Harper's mind before the man's eyes could widen at the shock. His body bent subtly, held rigid and still with the characteristic sharpness of those incapable of thought.

Dubbilex would extend his mind down to the sublevels soon, nestled in a different gnome's mind to listen to Desmond and Luthor discuss Match's approaching completion and final release from his pod. An event that thrummed with excitement, in the making longer than Dubbilex had existed. And yet sorrow stayed him a moment, a tiny core in the gnome as it closed its stranglehold on Jim Harper's mind. Gnomes rarely reacted in complex emotions on their own, and never without reason. Dubbilex had never felt a gnome wish not to act on another's mind.

Curiosity, then, had him reach out to Jim Harper directly. Nothing beyond.

The man was startlingly clear. Sections of his consciousness had a sort of transparency, as if Dubbilex could look straight down to his core. Undeceiving, forceful motivation to trigger firm action. Dubbilex believed that to be named "honesty" in human speech. And yet, too, Harper's mind held constant, strange pain, gaps in his memory and even his mind that spoke of prior encounters with psychics or at least of mental trauma. These dark scars fractured the clearness of his identity, their jagged pieces obscuring corners of his mind. Probing there, if done clumsily, could cause damage. Dubbilex drew back from them. Not worth exerting the effort now. He did not feel sufficiently threatened to warrant cruelty.

Jim Harper, even unable to think or move, felt of briskness and a sort of hushed warmth. A soldier. Yet a kind one. An oxymoron Dubbilex had never before encountered, especially not with so marked and battered a subconscious.

He had also never been forced into psychic stasis before. Dubbilex could tell that much. Jim Harper was no telepath, had no extrasensory powers at all, no ability to free himself, or even understand the attack, but even so he resisted the gnome's hold. He feebly struggled as it scattered his thoughts, folded his memory back on itself and fused it there, like a scar, so he could not see it clearly.

And yet, most strangely, though on some level he must have felt the futility of his actions, though Dubbilex could practically taste the sharp, dark tang of fear, of powerlessness, Jim Harper _kept_ resisting. Under severe psychic stress, most humans caved. Staggered. Yet Jim Harper held, unable to stop the gnome, but unwilling to bow to it, even as his subconscious creaked and groaned. And this was the source of the pain clouding the room in a reddish haze.

No wonder the gnome countenanced sorrow. They had not been programmed with moral compasses, yet all the genomes had since develop decency. They were not cruel without reason. And this was a form of torture only psychics could fully appreciate.

Down below, the gnomes reported Luthor's arrival to inspect the specimen, Desmond in tow. Luthor did not appear pleased. Dubbilex had moments to revert his attention down below; he could hear the footsteps on the tiled lab floor.

Yet, he did not like that his gnome-brother was sorry. That would not do.

He reached out again into Jim Harper, trying blunt his intrusion to something soft, soothing. Like he would lull the g-trolls to sleep after a day's work, calming their nerves. If the man continued to uselessly fight a psychic he could not defy, he would only bring himself suffering, possibly even permanent damage.

_Hush. Don't struggle. _Harper could not process thoughts now, and so Dubbilex commanded through sensation. He inserted the influence as gently, as kindly as he could, slid beneath Harper's weakly raised walls. _Let go._

For a moment Harper stood rigid, cornered, Dubbilex's insertion isolated and dimly rejected by his consciousness. As if at some fundamental level of identity, far below thoughts, he sensed it did not belong to him.

But if the gnomes could control him, it was even easier for Dubbilex, whose mental capacities far exceeded theirs in complexity. Still exuding soothing emotions, he bent Harper's will, already held in a chokehold by the gnome, in line with his own.

Harper could not sink to his knees, even as Dubbilex bowed him. Desperate, short sparks of fear dragged behind him.

Dubbilex did not let it unnerve him. This was the only way. Otherwise he would struggle ceaselessly, and further harm his mind. Scars cluttered Harper's insides already, wounds Dubbilex lacked the skill to unwind. Dubbilex knew how Desmond would establish his authority, and the consequences if Harper continued to resist. Dubbilex would not watch it. He pressed harder.

_Submit._

He never stood a chance. Jim Harper broke with a faint, red flash of pain. The wound Dubbilex gouged open knit into a slim scar, free of suffering and outside memory. It would not disturb him.

Dubbilex left Harper silent and still under the gnome's control, pressing reassurance and patience into the man's mind. Fearless, painless, Harper accepted the sensation as if it were his own. It was better this way.


	2. Taking Up the Shield

I plan to post two chapters a week depending on how my schedule hits when school starts.

Chapter warnings: None

* * *

Jim Harper hadn't dusted off Guardian in a while. He'd laid down the shield, near four months ago. Tried to put it away, maybe. He still wasn't sure. When he started thinking about what he wanted, what Jim Harper meant without the helmet ringing in his ears and the smell of a streetfight in his mouth, he found pretty contradictory and confused answers. Showed how much he knew.

Jim knew he hadn't ever been a great hero, but he'd made a lousy civvie, sticking his nose and his fists where they weren't wanted. He couldn't ignore the grating of the streets, the whispers and yelps that bounced around them. But he felt wrong out in them, too. Stuck somewhere in between.

So the trick was finding another 'between.' He'd be lying if he claimed the life hadn't hooked him somewhere between learning to fight and hiding the shield under that box. Should have seen it coming, really. Someone, he couldn't recall who, had told him so; you didn't just _leave_ the hero biz unless you rode in a bodybag. He'd stopped trying to escape.

But something had disconnected, a while back, something he didn't understand. An aimlessness, wandering the streets at three in the morning, looking for a fight that wasn't coming, someone to save when everyone was asleep, like he didn't know what he was supposed to be doing. It unnerved him, kept him up all night and tired all day. He knew enough to get out after that.

It only left him with a hollow. Inactive duty wasn't enough. So Cadmus should be a good fit. Hopefully. Still working, still on duty. It felt good to think about lifting the shield again, its heft on his arm, edge against his wrist.

But nothing changed the immovable fact that Jim did not want to get up. Not even everyday morning not-want-to-get-up. No, this flung him all the way back to college days, eight in the morning on exam-Mondays. Jim growled through his teeth, pressing his palm against his forehead. What the heck did he eat last night?

The spectacular red-pain-fireworks lodged behind his eyes weren't helping, either. He'd hoped sleep would dissipate the migraine. Nothing he could remember should have triggered a stress-ache yesterday. Job interviews were hardly frightening after people fired guns at your eyeballs as your most accessible weakpoint.

As he blinked at the painful black lines between the ceiling tiles, Jim realized he didn't remember why he'd slept over at Cadmus. This place was not his apartment in so many ways.

He'd wasn't attached to the place. A lot like the hero gig, really. Restlessness drove him on. He couldn't settle. Lying on starchy blue sheets that weren't his, looking up at a strange ceiling, Jim was really starting to hate that.

The bedside clock read 4:54 AM in angular digital typeface. Which meant he ought to get up if he wanted breakfast before work. Jim assumed, as they had places for him to sleep, they would also feed him. Plenty of time to interrogate his own decisions later.

His insides felt greyish and coiled too tight. He wasn't hungry yet, but he would eat anyway. He'd be much more prepared to integrate himself into this establishment if he could convince that headache to stop drilling at his eye sockets.

Rubbing his eyes, Jim rolled out of bed, unbalanced slightly when the floor was at a different distance than he'd expected, and wandered about the strange room. It took extra time to find the closet with his boots in it, standing at attention side by side. If there was any less subtle reminder of what he should do, he didn't know it.

The bathroom had a painfully white shower, which was useful, with blue soap that smelled like manufactured seashore. A kitchen jutted off the living room; he padded through it looking for his cellphone. It was a pretty nice place, actually, all things considered. Just foreign. Uninhabited. He'd have to go pick up Lan and Twirly if he was going to be spending nights here. Maybe just one of them, if he switched back and forth. Sunlight flooded one window-sill that practically begged for a plant, and even had a partial shade section that Twirly would probably like. The poor plant didn't really agree with his current location.

Jim felt a little better after a shower and a suit. The straps on his armor creaked like always, and shield was heavy and familiar on his wrist. He'd missed the sensation. Carrying his helmet under his arm, he wandered towards the entryway of the apartment. The door seemed to be a sliding panel, which was sort of strange. A small screen hung on the wall next to it, by a small table. A computer? As Jim drew closer to it, the interface whirred to life.

"Unit assigned to: James Harper, alias Guardian. Clearance level B-4. Would you like to access the mainframe?"

Jim blinked at the screen in consternation. "Yes, please."

"Please verify access, Mr. Harper." Five shapes of lines and dots materialized on the screen. It took Jim a moment to recognize his fingerprints. So that was why they'd done the inking procedure yesterday. And here he'd thought they were running criminal checks. Jim pulled off his glove and lined up his fingers. The marks were actually spaced out to fit his hand, too. Weird.

The screen whirred to life on contact, chirping quickly as bars of light scanned over his skin. A cheery set of tones announced a proper match as the interface changed.

"Mainframe access granted. Welcome, Operative Guardian. You have two new briefing statements and one video log."

Straight to work, then. Jim put on his helmet, latched it under his chin, and checked his briefings first. One summarized Cadmus' schematics, including a blueprint that would ideally keep him from getting hopelessly lost. The building extended far further underground than he'd have guessed coming in. Go figure.

Thankfully, he found a cafeteria clearly labeled on the map, and further reading in the "standard employee" debriefing explained that this area was open 24/7 to feed him. With a show of his Cadmus ID-card, he would be provided for. Jim filed that away and tried to finish the other information quickly.

The second briefing, he found with some surprise, contained two letters. One from a Dr. Desmond, Director of the Cadmus program, and, as the man reminded him, Jim's superior officer. His letter curtly laid out Guardian's duties as director of security and documented the particularities of his contract. Jim scanned through just to be sure; expected pay, sick days (he was unsurprised by how few, and had little expectation of using them), injury insurance. It all checked out. The medical facilities somewhat surprised him, odd that they would not open their practice to private payers, but he was imagined at some point that would be explained to him as well. Perhaps some question of contamination prevented contact with outside patients. The tests done here were too expensive to mess up lightly. At the least, if he was injured on the job (God forbid), he would be well cared for.

At the bottom of Desmond's letter, however, was another short note.

_Dear Mr. Harper._

_ I am pleased you decided to accept the post, and hope to see you again in the future._

_ Knowing our mutual friend Desmond as I do, I felt compelled to mention, as he in all likelihood will conveniently fail to recall. This databank carries a copy of the contract, for your convenience. Section 12B paragraph 6 outlines emergency authorities reserved for you. Should any personnel endanger the products or reputation of this institution, it is your responsibility to safeguard Cadmus. Do not take Desmond personally. He is a bitter and distrustful man, and has not had the good fortune to meet as many reasonable, decent people as you and I. _

_ I bring this to your attention because I have utmost faith in your honesty and trustworthiness. I know you will not abuse your rank through this information._

_ Best of luck,_

_ L. Luthor_

Jim read that letter twice. He was pretty sure the second section had not been attached when Desmond sent his. How strange. Someone, whether really Luthor (he doubted it, it was too easy to fake signatures these days) or otherwise, had an interest in undermining Desmond's authority.

Not that Jim particularly minded. Most security corps had a provision for institutional safety, so it was useful to know by name. He was inclined to believe that Desmond would fail to mention it. Jim didn't like letting first impressions shadow an entire job, but he wasn't too tractable when treated rudely. The rest of Cadmus seemed reasonably bearable, and hopefully would prove halfway decent, but Dr. Desmond was sure to be a thorn in his side.

Still, he'd accepted this job, and he would perform to those expectations. Desmond was surely useful for some scientific mumbo-jumbo, and heaven knew Jim couldn't handle that stuff.

The video sped through different types of genetically modified…creatures, identifying characteristics, abilities and general jobs of each variet. The images had the air-brushed feel of a promotional poster, hiding important information, especially about those lightning-fast, sharp-toothed ones who glared at the camera with beady eyes. They certainly didn't look like pest-control packs. Jim watched the video twice and both times those things sent a chill up his neck.

Yeah. Not friendly. Or at least not harmless. He shouldn't judge; he'd met people in the hero community about that friendly-looking who'd still dragged him out of tough spots. But still.

But plenty of time to judge later. As chief of safety, Jim's job meant making sure he knew what those things could do, and when they'd be provoked into doing them. He was the Guardian of this place now. Those things too.

Information binge left him hungry. Making sure he had his card-key in his belt-pocket (a lockout would hardly do on day one), Jim ventured into the hallway to test his sense of direction against the map.

Cadmus' ceiling lights ran in endless lines, like subway-tracks, and he followed them down the hall. If being a soldier taught you one thing, it was taking directions well. He did not backtrack once, despite the decidedly unhelpful architecture where every hallway presented a cookie-cutter replica of the one before.

By 5:30 he located the mess hall, which probably wasn't called that around here. An impressive crowded milled about inside for the early hour. Jim assumed the night shift employees were grabbing a bite before heading to sleep. He knew the feeling. They sat in small scattered groups, staring zombie-eyed at the walls and each other. Jim smiled, nodded, and left them alone. He'd talk when they were coherent.

The fare was reasonable, and at least the eggs weren't soggy. His headache improved, as he'd hoped, though it didn't quite disappear. A dense mass of pressure pulsed behind his left eye, as if to keep track of his heartbeat. Perfect. At least he wasn't seeing any bright spots.

He finished and discarded his cutlery. Desmond's briefing said report at 6:00 sharp. As the man's unpleasantness likely survived a good nights rest, Guardian was in no mood to make this meeting more uncomfortable than it had to be. Best be on time. No one could complain about punctuality.

"If you must stand there distracting me from my work, we may as well start early."

Dr. Desmond seemed capable of complaining about anything. The scientist ushered him in without looking up from his line of petri dishes.

Jim marshaled his self-discipline. "Guardian reporting for duty, Doctor."

Desmond finally glanced at him. "Yes, yes, come here." Jim carefully maneuvered past tall glass tubes filled with greenish liquid and gnarled, strange shapes. On the desk he saw two such creatures, minus the vaguely sinister suspensory fluid. The dimness, the constant hum of the tanks and cooling units made his head pound.

He needed to focus. So his head hurt. He had work to do. "Genomorphs," he said, because his head ached and he had to say something. He'd never seen one in person before.

The look Desmond gave him dripped disdain. "You actually checked your messages, I see. I did not expect you to remember them."

Jim was too fascinated by the little things to mind the scientist's sharp-edged words. These little ones were gnomes if he remembered correctly. Barely bigger than a cat, joints folded at unnatural angles, with pupil-less red eyes. Scales roughened their skin, and they blinked up at him, tilting their heads back and forth.

In unison. Creepy.

The door hissed, and combat instincts brought him forward, between it and Desmond.

The creature who looked back at Jim was not human. The video showed a glimpse of this genomorph, but Jim couldn't recall its name.

The genomorph turned its attention to Desmond. The scientist, predictably, scowled. "I told you 6:40, Dubbilex. You should know better than to interrupt."

'Dubbelix' blinked serenely. To Jim's astonishment, when Desmond finished the genomorph spoke in a dry, deep voice. "I thought you would find it of use to know specimen 255B-14 has reached 22 parts per million, and is expected to reach transformation phase in one hour."

Desmond made an incoherent sound of frustrated surprise, and rounded on his computer. The frenetic clacking stabbed at Jim's head until he winced. Six pairs of red eyes fixed on him with what he hoped was just curiosity. The spoken one's eyes, particularly, seemed to glow dimly for a moment there.

They were fellow workers here, Jim supposed, and so he tried not to resent the examination, taking the chance to more closely observe this strange…person. He (it sounded male, though what did Jim know) had blue skin, the same tiny scales freckled across his face as the little ones on the counter, but this creature had larger and sharper-looking horns.

"Very well, then, we will have to make this brief." Desmond whisked from computer to desk, lab coat flapping like harried wings. The little things on the desk stepped away from him.

"Guardian, this is Dubbilex, a telekinetic G-goblin capable of speech. He is the most intellectually developed genomorph you will work with. You may give him directives to communicate to the less intelligent." Jim barely had time to nod a greeting to Dubbilex before Desmond whisked back to the desk. The harshness of his steps twisted the ache behind Jim's eyes. Great. Even when he was quiet he was loud.

Desmond kept jabbing the words at him. "More important, these are G-gnomes, used for telepathic communication anywhere in Cadmus. You are assigned 16258." He gestured at the gnome to the left, which looked at Jim with those red, red eyes. Tiny reddish Jims reflected back. "Keep it with you at all times, Guardian. Do you understand?"

Jim pushed aside the headache. "Yes, Doc. I keep the same one?" He looked at the little guy again, and the gnome blinked back.

Desmond sighed explosively, which poked another needle behind Jim's eyes. "Yes, yes. At all times!" He repeated it acerbically and slowly, as if to a small child. With a rough shove, he sent the little thing stumbling towards Jim. "Take it, and that," he pointed at Dubbelix, "and get out. I have important matters to attend to."

If Jim didn't like Desmond before, seeing him shove that little thing justified the opinion. Who could treat so small a creature so callously? The hurt in his head spiked unpleasantly, but he hurried to stabilize the gnome before it fell.

The gnome lowered wiry arms over his wrist. Rough bony plates covered its knees, so hard and taut with its weight Jim could feel them through his thick gloves. Its gnarled fingers gripped the back of his glove with strength that surprised him.

The gnome looked up with red eyes, and closed its fingers, shifting the fabric between scaly palm and scaly thumb. Like holding hands with an infant. An eerie glow wreathed its horns. Jim would have recoiled in surprise if a sudden sureness of calm and safety hadn't flooded through him.

The pounding pain in his head evaporated.

The breath went out of him, "_Oh," _and Jim stared at the little thing. It blinked back, and held more firmly to his hand, its mandibles shifting rhythmically. When he heard the little grating sound, he realized it was purring.

Jim smiled. "Alright, then I'm calling him Jake."

Desmond's garbled exploding sound was faintly entertaining. "What!?"

Jake accepted Jim's boost up onto his shoulder. The thicker material dulled the pressure of the little guy's sharp toes. Jake poked and prodded curiously before settling by Jim's neck. Once he stopped moving, Guardian followed previous orders and ignored Desmond's spluttering. "Coming, Dubbilex?"

They'd only met moments ago, but Jim thought consternation met him on Dubbilex's scaly face. That offered him a distinct sense of accomplishment. The g-goblin blinked at him, before turning from Desmond's exclamations, and following Jim out of the lab.

Jim made sure Jake was steady, and received a blunt-horned headbutt in appreciation. "Come on, little guy. Let's see if we can find my office."


	3. The Importance of Namedays

I actually think those g-gnome mind control guys are adorable when they aren't being scary :)

Thank you all for reading this far! Short chapter, but next one's longer.

Chapter warnings: None

* * *

Dubbilex spent the next days on the lower levels again, moving equipment for the new cloning project. On top of the mostly monotonous physical labor, he had his hands full psychically. The newest litter of gnomes unfurled into the psychic grid on the second day. Dubbilex's remaining attention went to orienting those brothers to their location and duties, connecting them to the others with filaments of welcome and reassurance.

In the gaps between organizing these young creatures, Dubbelix barely had a brief thought for Jim Harper. The gnome would report any unusual activity in the man's jagged mind. The little brother had eagerly set to exploring those strange, gnarled pieces in Jim Harper's mind soon after connecting, and under orders from Dubbilex would monitor them for any sign of dangerous behavior.

Only late in on the third day, wearied and content with the voices of the gnomes, Dubbilex realized he had not actually checked in with Guardian's gnome in several hours.

_Little brother, I-_

_Jake._

Dubbelix balked in consternation. The gnome had never in its life cut him off. Gnomes by design received input, not gave it, interfacing with each other to more efficiently organize. This one was barely eight weeks old, too young to have picked up any habits from Dubbilex.

He tried again. _Brother, I wished to know-_

Again, overruled by a pert, firm thought. _Jake._

Dubbilex' patience had always been thin. _Brother. Cease this-_

And yet it resisted his attempt to whisk aside the response. The gnome dug its fingers into Jim Harper's shoulder, Dubbelix could feel it, the curl of claw and tendon. _Jake._

Gnomes did not often communicate in full words, projecting more often in feelings or knowledge. The gnome repeated Jim Harper's voice in its mind, pushing the sound into Dubbelix's.

_Jake. I'm calling him Jake._

A weight of meaning and happiness echoed in that word. Dubbelix stopped as the gnome pushed. No, not a word. A name. He frowned. Where had the gnome received the concept of a name? Dubbelix had it, but had never felt so strongly as this gnome did now.

Doubtless this strangeness was Jim Harper's influence. Dubbilex's frown darkened as he expressed this concept to the gnome. If only a day could change its understandings of the world, then the disjunctions in Harper's mind might carry even more danger than they thought. Were they contagious? Did they put surrounding psychics at risk?

The gnome (who excised that word from Dubbilex's thought and inserted Jake) responded calmly, but still from a small core of firm distaste. Repeating Jake in Jim Harper's voice, like a litany, it drew Dubbelix into its thoughtstream and showed him snippets of the last days.

It ("_Jake"!)_ hadn't acquired this new concept of meaning, of name, only from Jim Harper's mind. Dubbelix was surprised, disconcerted, to find Jim Harper talking to his companion ("_Jake"!)_ almost constantly as the man learned the halls through Cadmus.

"I'm Jim, by the way. Don't know if you understand English." Jim Harper measured the gnome with a look. "You're listening, though." He shrugged, unperturbed. "James Harper, named after my grandfather, but I'm only really called James on taxes. Jake was my dad's dog when he was a kid, so you've got some pretty big shoes to fill."

And on and on. As 162-(_Jake.) _radiated confusion, Jim felt it without knowing, laughed and reached up to pet its horns. His fingers seemed incapable of running out of warmth. "Don't worry, you'll make a good Jake. I can tell already." The gnome could feel his sincerity, easy, clear, and guileless.

Warmth and muzzy excitement, projected secondhand, bloomed confusedly in Dubbelix's chest, and he understood there could be no forgetting it, no undoing what Jim Harper had done. 16…Jake had never been praised by a human until now, never been treated individually or spoken to or scratched on the ears.

Dubbilex conceded. _Jake_.

The glow of happiness he received in return almost made it a nonissue that the gnome had edited his thoughts and interrupted him multiple times.

Almost.

_I asked something of you, if you recall._

Jake reported on Guardian (for that was what even in thought Jim Harper called himself while on duty), on his behavior and his thoughts. Dubbelix again received unexpected information. A few unnatural tremors aside, Guardian's thoughts and subconscious had remained stable and at ease. Aside from a degree of caution Dubbelix had learned to expect among humans unable to probe the motives of others, Guardian's behavior remained rather friendly with personnel and genomorphs alike.

A few times only something shifted in him, those strange dark spaces buried in his subconscious briefly active. But this time neither Jake nor Dubbelix could discern exactly what, if anything, these bouts changed. Guardian seemed growing calmer as the day went on, but Dubbelix could explain that. A human generally acquainted himself with a new environment within a week. Each abnormality lasted fractions of a second at most. Dubbelix concluded finally that these were, at least in this instance, merely tics of Jim Harper's mind. Subconscious injury rarely left the damaged part of a mind entirely still.

That did not, however, as he firmly reminded Jake, mark those obscured patches as innocuous. Lex Luthor, with no telepathy at all, seemed to know triggers for Jim Harper's subconscious reactions. That was dangerous. If Guardian proved unstable, if another Jim Harper lurked buried beneath this strangely personable one, it would be Jake's task to manage him, keep him under control, and most importantly warn Dubbelix so they could take proper measures. Dubbelix felt his spine prickle as he tried to press the true breadth of the threat onto Jake.

Anyone Luthor could turn at a word could not be relied on in thought or act. That man's mind was a hall of mirrors, always turning you in on yourself.

Jake well understood the need to safeguard the genomorph cause as a whole, and acknowledged Dubbelix's directive to monitor Guardian closely.

Still, as he pulled away Dubbelix clearly sensed the gnome's attachment to the man, a firm, thick tether, remarkably strong for so brief an interaction. Gnomes, especially those assigned to humans, adapted fundamentally to their partner's thought patterns; Dubbelix had seen it happen. But that form of closeness required years to develop. Jake's must be something else.

Dubbilex was not thrilled that he may have to keep an eye on Jake, too, for signs of abnormality due to Jim Harper's influence. Could nothing be simple? It was looking more and more like he would have to investigate this subject himself as well as on Jake's information.


	4. The Ones With Teeth

It seems my Jim chapters have a propensity to be long. Hmm. :)

Chapter warnings: mild violence

* * *

Cadmus was…not what he expected. But that was all right.

For the most part, Guardian found security at Cadmus somewhat like security everywhere else in the world; a balancing game of budget, morale, and someone else's paranoia. Higher tech cameras here, perhaps, different id codes, six page protocols depending on guest arrivals. But only so many ways could distinguish an establishment like this one in terms of internal security.

First week on duty proved relatively pleasant. He avoided Desmond for the most part, pleased to learn they worked in entirely different departments. That man had no idea how security worked, and spent their only meeting howling about some amorphous malignant force hell bent on his project files. Guardian felt grateful previous periods of his life had ground patience into his bones. Otherwise he may have dropped aloud some of the thoughts that would likely jeopardize his job if spoken.

His security department, by contrast, were both receptive and respectful, evidently glad to have a director who knew his work. On night two Guardian overhauled the awfully monitoring schedule until no one served more than one night shift in a week. He picked Friday as his. Almost the day after, security officers said hello to him in the mess with genuine smiles. Not too bad.

The scientists demonstrated their patented reticent, but, then, he probably accidentally dropped hints of how antsy lab coats always made him. Still, some of them shook hands, slim, quick gestures. So maybe they'd prove fine, too. Or not. So long as he kept them and their work secure, that was all fine.

Sometime between Monday and Wednesday, someone brought his plants over. Guardian wasn't sure who so he couldn't say thanks. Twirly perked up smartly after about a day on the windowsill, gathering the morning sun like syrup in her leaves.

Jake and his relatives definitely were the strangest part. After day one, tired but feeling somewhat oriented with the world, Guardian returned from mess to his assigned quarters. He was pleased he found his own way back. "Here we are. This isn't where I live, exactly, but it's where I'll be staying the night sometimes."

The door hissed shut, sounding asthmatic. Guardian crossed to the table, took off his helmet, and about then a very obvious fact caught up with him. Jim looked at Jake on his shoulder. "Wait, I'm supposed to keep you with me. So you'll live in here, too, when I do?"

Jack tilted his head, bumping Jim's hair with his chin-horns.

"Guess that's a yes. What do you eat?"

The next half hour revealed his stocked fridge (Cadmus seemed nothing if not efficient), and established that his new friend liked fresh spinach, and would devour anything made out of tofu as if it were chocolate. Watching the gnome take miniscule bites, holding the gummy white strips in sharp teeth, Jim made note to ask what Jake was supposed to eat tomorrow. Were these things all vegetarian, or did Jake just like some sort of meat Jim didn't have handy?

That left all the other complications of a…pet? Jake seemed too smart for the word, but Jim was too tired at the time to think of another. It took a bit to coax Jake onto the bed of pillows on the couch, and the bewilderment clear even on that gnomy face made Jim wonder where these guys slept usually. But, all and all, it turned out all right. Jim got him settled and after he explained a few times, Jake propped himself against the back of the couch. Soon, based on the steady humming sound, he seemed asleep, so Jim could turn in, too. Jake waited on the couch bright an early the next day, and didn't seem tired. Workable system.

Guardian's shoulder ached a little by the day three, but Jake moved to the other side before he asked, and he'd get used to it. He'd acclimated to the shield, after all, and it weighed more than this little guy.

Thanks to Jake, the gnomes ceased to weird him out when he saw them on other people's shoulders,. The others…well, he was working on it.

"Greetings, Guardian."

Embarrassingly, he still jumped. He'd won fights with far scarier things than Dubbelix. But, still, something about the way the goblin slid in and out of shadows got him. "Hello, Dubbilex. I didn't see you."

Dubbelix inclined his head, a gesture all the more evident as his horn-tips cut through the air. "You were at work. It is understandable." A group of labcoats and meandered down the hall from C Lab Section, crowding Dubbilex and Guardian out of their way. Once the noise passed, Dubbilex stepped quickly back. "I hope I had not interrupted."

"Give me one minute, and it won't be an interruption." Guardian backed up to the opposite wall, scrutinizing the ceiling. One camera at the corner, but two feet up the hall. Which meant, given the location of the other one here…ah, surveillance breach there. Verified report. He keyed the location on his palm-computer for the tech folks upstairs. Someone else could do this, but Guardian always felt better when he checked the first few notifications himself. That way responsibility sat on his head, not someone he didn't know well enough to trust. Most of these folks had, understandably, never snuck past a security system.

One of these days he'd figure out why heroing involved so much of that. Either bad guys had too much tech access, or good guys had to find easier ways to get information.

"Dubbilex, how far down do these sublevels go?"

"Sixty floors," the genomorph replied, watching him with those red eyes. "All but the top three, however, are monitored by genomorphs."

Right. Someone had mentioned that today. It still surprised him, regardless. Automatically reaching up to scratch Jake's ear, Guardian turned to the goblin. "All right. I'm done here. Did you need me? Sorry if I kept you waiting."

"I am tasked with acquainting you to the security forces on the lower levels."

"The genomorphs?"

"Yes." Dubbelix paused, and Jake shifted. Guardian felt vaguely like genomorphs had their own quiet language when silence stretched too long around them. It made him feel out of the loop, forced him again to practice patience.

When Dubbilex frowned, he did so more with his ears than anything. "I suggest caution. They are meant to prevent intrusion, and may react dramatically to strangers."

Probably the closest to concern he was ever going to get. Guardian nodded. "Thanks. I'll be careful. Where are we going?"

"Sublevel thirty five. Follow me, please."

The elevator ride was fortunately quiet. Opportunities to speak with Dubbelix without someone else had proved scarce. "You are a telekinetic, right?"

Dubbelix paused again, and scrutiny practically tingled across Jim's face. "Yes. I have basic mental control of movement. I can levitate animate and inanimate objects, and manipulate multiple objects in the air at once."

"That's pretty impressive." Guardian had never worked much with telekinetics. Street fights rarely attracted that caliber.

"It simply requires extensive genetic engineering. You could achieve the same with proper resources."

"Yeah…thanks, but I think I'm good. Count me out of that one."

"Your singularity precludes counting, I fear."

Guardian only realized three seconds later that this scale-faced creature had just joked. He could definitely see a few wrinkles, like laugh lines, around the genomorph's eyes.

Guardian smiled. This day just got way better. "I'll work on that. Clone myself or something."

"You may wish to take care who overhears such things here," Dubbelix said as the elevator released them onto the dim lower levels.

A good point, if one that made his skin crawl a bit. Guardian followed Dubbelix, not keen on losing his way down here. He'd descended below floor twenty a few times yesterday, but quickly retreated back up. The walls below thirty five looked unnervingly flesh-like, covered with dark pods whose purpose he'd rather not know. Rusted wires and technological islands reared out at odd angles, snaking along the floors and walls. The hushed claustrophobia of the underground pushed down around them, levels of the building overhead creating a pressure he felt deep in his ears.

"This is where the g-elves remain when off duty. You will have to come back to meet the current patrol."

The door was ten feet high of metal, polished and thick. Guardian raised an eyebrow. Pretty thick for a holding pen. He remembered the g-elves on the video log. Those were the ones who looked like they wanted to eat someone.

Dubbilex slowly entered the key code and stood aside as the door groaned. The hiss of hydraulics drew it back. "Welcome."

Right. Definitely felt like a welcome. Still, best not to let the elves think this meant an early patrol. Guardian figured they stayed in here until the night shift started, and day and night were arbitrary names from timetables this far below ground.

They entered a dim chamber lit blue ceiling lights. What must have been thirty sets of red eyes swiveled towards them from the corners and crevices of the room, so sharp and glowing that every past experience set his adrenaline rushing.

Dubbelix spoke, but Guardian did not hear him. The elves held him with predator eyes, waiting, judging, following him. The few closest to him unlocked their jaws, he could see the flashes of their pointed tongues. Clearly identified him as the stranger. He could almost watch them stalk him.

"Jake, go to Dubbelix."

Jake squeaked in surprise as Guardian boosted him onto his hand. Dubbelix broke off his statement, but Guardian's had no attention to spare him anymore.

Jake's sound changed the elves. Those closest lurched a step towards Guardian, lithe, menacing, flashing sharp teeth amid little hissing sounds in their throats. They flickered out of the shadows, and Guardian caught sight of a few between him and the door. Surrounded. Wonderful. He guessed they would not hurt Dubbilex, because he did not have the option to think about defending the goblin against so many. He'd seen their stats. These things were long as he was a tall and muscled like fighting dogs, with sharp, sharp claws and pronged jaws capable of crushing bone. They could as easily hurt a gnome as put a foot down, he'd bet.

Guardian startled as Dubbilex strode forward, horns up, hand out. "Do not-"

Split second changes defined battle. Dubbilex's words distracted them, so Guardian used it, scooping Jake down to the computer-terminal. Surprised, Jake shrieked, the most distressed sound Guardian had ever heard him make.

Ears flattened, twenty shapes rushed him, and suddenly a mass of claws latched onto Guardian's back, kicking fiercely. Three more followed, mouths gaping, bounding like cats.

The first blow knocked him forward just enough, Jake stumbled onto the counter, freeing Guardian's hand to throw off one would-be-mauler. Claws shrieked on his armor, so all he could hear was the scratching.

Two. One high, one low. He took the high one on his shoulder, brushed off the low one with his shield. It bounced and flipped, goring the tiles as it recovered.

More.

Jake shrieked, whirring with distress, and Guardian snatched the elf jumping from behind, it's tail flailing bare inches from Jake. "Hey!" Stinging pain on his shield arm made him shake the creatures hanging off his body. "Stop."

"Do not harm him!" Dubblix appeared between him and the rest. Guardian had never heard him so commanding. The elf in his grip tensed, then slowly uncurled its claws from Guardian's arm and stomach. The grip – teeth? – on his shield arm slackened, but held, still pricking painfully. He ignored them for now.

"Jake?"

"He is unharmed, Guardian." Guardian didn't look quite far enough to see Dubbilex's head, but he saw his hands, scaled and relaxed. Dubbilex touched the back of the elf Guardian held, droning a strange hum. Guardian realized suddenly both elves in contact with him were shivering.

They were scared. He frightened them.

Then, logic finally resumed speed. Jake's sounds of distress. Their sudden attack. They'd thought he hurt Jake. Oh.

As the others in the room tentatively moved closer, Guardian lowered the elf in his hand to the ground, and let it go.

Jake crouched on the keyboard, rocking back and forth with small, sharp chirps. Eyes wide and red, unharmed.

Guardian looked down at the elf who still held his arm in its teeth. It had moved very fast, shoved its nose under his shield at the wrist, its teeth buried through glove to skin. Man those teeth were sharp. The grey-skinned creature regarded Guardian with wide red eyes, ears flattened to its neck. Its grip had loosened now, but it still hurt. Guardian pitched his voice quiet. Like a scared dog, Harper. It could have crushed your wrist if it'd really wanted to. "Sorry about that. Can you let go? It stings."

The elf blinked at him, once. Then, thankfully, it released his arm, skittering away to hide behind Dubbilex's coat.

"Guardian, you are bleeding."

If the first adrenaline spike hadn't leveled off by now, he'd have thought that sounded like concern. Dubbelix was right, of course. Four matched tears ringed Jim's sleeve, showing gouged teeth-marks underneath. Each nick trickled a nice, dramatic mess of red.

"I'll get it patched in medbay. It doesn't hurt." It did, actually, stung more than a surface injury should. He wondered if their teeth generated anything unpleasant. Still, he'd intended to check out medbay, anyway. Now he'd actually have a reason.

Dubbilex gave him a long look. "You are not angry."

Not a question, but, then, he'd never heard the g-goblin ask a question. Guardian slowly knelt among the elves milling nervously about. From this new height, they were taller than him if they stood, but most of them dropped to all fours to follow him down. Their sides shivered, like fish.

He recognized the one who'd bit him by the blood speckles on its chin. Unlike its fellows, it stood still within arm's reach, watching every move he made.

"No harm no foul. He was just doing his job." Adrenaline finally out of him, Guardian forced his back to relax. "Dubbilex, you talk to them, don't you? Would you tell them I won't hurt them? I think I gave them a fright."

"Yes." Dubbilex did not at first, did not even look at the elves, watching Guardian. Some time passed before he turned away. "One moment."

Guardian was content to stay still and watch. Dubbelix laid his hands on the elves' heads as they gathered around him, boosting up on each other's backs like a tangled, quivering web of muscle. Their heads angled as if listening to Dubbilex's deep humming sound. The tone thrummed, like a cicada. Definitely not English.

A little hand bumped Guardian's helmet. With his uninjured hand he helped Jake down onto his shoulder. "Sorry. I didn't realize you were trying to help." Jake fussed over his shoulder armor, muttering nonsense sounds with hard edges. Without looking Guardian knew the little guy glared at the bleeding injuries on his arm. "I'm fine, Jake."

The g-elves stirred around Dubbelix, turning one by one to look at Guardian again. He waited. Moving too fast hadn't been a good idea last time.

The one with the blood-splat on its chin came first. He'd have to call him Achilles or something. The elf approached on all fours, ears back, sniffing at Guardian. Guardian smiled. "Let's try this again. Hi. I'm Jim."

Emboldened, another came. Then another, and another. They seemed to travel like a pack, when one deemed him harmless, the others followed. Guardian quickly found himself crowded by sniffing noses, bright red eyes, and strangely gnarled hands that stole curious pokes at his shield. The bravest let him scratch behind their ears, and opened their mouths with a throaty purring sound.

These guys weren't as bad as he'd thought. Just curious, and a bit jumpy.

After most of the troop seemed acclimated, Dubbelix shooed them off. Guardian straightened up. "I'll have to come back to meet the other half, you said."

Dubbilex nodded, all business again. "Ten now patrol. The second introduction will not be so explosive, as the majority have accepted you."

"Right. Send me their schedules. They do have schedules, don't they? I like to know how many are running around at a time."

"Yes, director."

He'd eventually get used to that title. Patting an elf head that butted under his hand, Guardian checked his ripped sleeve. Definitely beyond easy repair. He'd have to order some more backups, if day three already used his first one. "I'll come by tomorrow, then. I need to go back to sublevel 8."

Dubbilex frowned. "I will guide you back after directing you to the medlab."

Guardian resisted the urge to roll his eyes, uncertain if the genomorph would understand the gesture. He would meet a stubborn genetically engineered telekinetic, now, wouldn't he? "It should be fine. I'll stop by my quarters in a bit. I'm trained to deal with little things like this."

The g-goblin straightened his coat. "Indeed. I'm sure you are equipped for the anti-coagulant in the hunters' saliva. However, I would rather avoid unidentified blood samples in the hallways. I must insist you go to medlab."

There wasn't much Guardian could say to that. Given he'd seen Dubbilex direct G-trolls heavier than elephants, he did not think the g-goblin would be intimidated by attempted resistance.

"Fine, I give." He held up his hands, only to stem a wince as the stinging intensified. On second thought, medlab seemed a good idea. "Lead the way, then."

He meant it part in fun and part in gratitude, but both seemed to go over the genomorph's head. Jake, clinging possessively to his shoulder, seemed to agree with Dubbilex's assessment, though, only uncurling as they moved towards the door.

The elves looked sorry to see them go, and Guardian wondered if they sat in there alone all day except feeding and patrols. He'd have to see if he could accompany some patrols, or introduce his security officers to them. With fewer bites. It might do those elves good to have some variation. He patted Achilles' head before shutting the door.

Wait, he wasn't sure if he'd call him Achilles…ah, well.

Dubbelix set a brisk pace to Level 2 of the surface building. A left turn from the elevator and a long hallway brought them to a series of pristine white doors. Beyond that, Dubbelix bypassed a waiting room in favor of a door marked with a red cross.

On the other side, a mellow version of an emergency room recieved them. Only two other patients sat on green-covered mattresses, which Guardian hoped was good news. No one batted an eye at the genemorphs, and he saw several gnomes perched on one of the treatment tables.

Dubbelix crossed to an open treatment suite, and pulled the partition curtain into place. Not really necessary; the other patients hadn't had theirs, but Guardain didn't argue. A nurse emerged from a side door, almost completely obscured by white scrubs. Guardian was spared explanation by Dubbelix's swift, succinct summation of the event.

He weathered enough first aid know what came next. Sit down, strip back the sleeve, stay still for cleaning, which would hurt on and off until tomorrow or the day after. The nurse had some antidote to the venom, easing the stinging.

To his consternation, Dubbelix remained standing there. Guardian could not fathom why. Dubbelix regarded his shield with interest.

"It's for defense, usually. Can fire energy blasts, though. A friend of mine made it for me a few years ago."

"Yet you did not use it earlier." Dubbelix blinked at him. As he'd learned genomorphs did when confused. Had they all learned that from Dubbelix, Guardian wondered, or was it natural body language?

"No. I didn't want to hurt them. I didn't think you would take me into real risk. They were aggressive, that's all. It didn't make sense to be too rough." Guardian pressed his teeth together as the nurse moved to one of the deeper gouges. "This thing packs a punch. It was built to withstand fistfights with armored opponents."

Dubbelix considered this for a moment, nodded. "Pragmatic. Did you encounter many such enemies?"

"Not too often. But plenty of other things." Stinging. Oh, no matter how technologically and medically advanced, antiseptic still hurt like glass shards. He talked to stay level. Keep chatting. Dubbelix wasn't curious, probably didn't care, but he was as useful an outlet as any. "Giant lizards, once. And this guy who tried to brain me with a tuba. That was interesting."

"Your vocabulary poses some logical challenges, Guardian. I fail to see any interest in such an event."

There again. He hadn't made that one up, and he would bet money the dry crackling he heard this time was thin genomorph chuckling.

It brought a smile to his face. "Call me Jim."

The nurse moved, then, and he could see Dubbilex. The genomorph searched him with thin red eyes, a look Guardian could not read.

"Jim." Dubbelix wrinkled his face, as if trying it out. He pulled his brows together as if the name tasted strange. "Very well. I have no second name to offer."

"We were introduced, but we didn't do it right." Guardian offered his right hand. "Shake?"

He could tell he startled Dubbelix, because the genemorph's whiskers curled backwards at the tips. He also belatedly realized he hadn't ever noticed if the goblin had thumbs, if he could shake hands.

Turned out Dubbelix did, and could. He reached out with his thin, strangely gnarled hand, and offered a surprisingly strong handshake. Not too shabby for a genetically engineered telekinetic. Guardian didn't even have to explain what to do. He smiled. "Nice to meet you, Dubbilex."

"And you."

He lifted his arm so the nurse could finish the dressing. That was going to rub under his shield. Oh well.

"You must miss it." Guardian glanced from the nurse to his companion. Dubbelix still made no move to leave. "The life of a hero."

He stilled, waiting as the medical tape went down. He'd left of his own volition. It had been the only option he could come up with. So, really, most of the answer was no. "Only parts." Reflexively he scratched Jake's chin-horns. "You get the itch and it never goes away, no matter what you do. I own that. It's true. I named myself Guardian for a reason. There isn't much like saving people, or keeping a place safe."

Jake purred, and Jim smiled. "But there are plenty of things I don't miss." Like people shooting at his eyes. That would never become nostalgic. "What I'm doing here looks like it'll be just about right. I wouldn't have left if I wasn't ready." That at least was true. And he had expectations to meet now, a lot of people and genomorphs depending on him. He'd only been here days, not long enough to know what would drag the sweep and thrill of street-scuffle back into him like an ache. But that was all part of the job.

Speaking of the job, and people he'd be working with. "My turn to ask." Dubbelix startled a bit at this concept of trading questions, but Jim didn't give him time to defer. "Is there a reason you're still waiting? You always have at least six things to do, don't you?"

Dubbelix nodding vaguely. "Ordinarily I would depart earlier. However, I feel partially responsible this time; had I arranged the meeting with more care, the elves would have understood it and this visit could have been postponed to more favorable circumstances."

Oh… Not what he'd been expecting. "Thanks." There wasn't much else to say, at least that he could think of.

"It is of little import. I acted for their peace of mind. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my duties, director." Dubbelix nodded to him, to the nurse, and walked away, leaving Guardian blinking after him.

So…clearly that hadn't been for his benefit. The genomorph evidently missed his teasing about concern for his welfare. He hoped he hadn't offended Dubbilex. Still, that the elves regretted their confrontation earlier was reassuring. If that were true he was sure they'd get on fine.

The nurse finally released his arm, with admonitions of greater care next time, and Guardian was free to pick up Jake and head back to work. The gnome shuffled on his shoulder more emphatically than usual before settling. Guardian scoffed. "That was for your protection, you know. You shouldn't sulk. It's not like you're the sturdiest little thing."

The gnome huffed, and short, blunt horns bumped Guardian's helmet. He took the hint and stopped teasing the creature who currently had easy access to his neck and ears. Back to work it was, then.


	5. Old and New

Chapter Warnings: Should be kind of a given, but mind control

* * *

The months following Jim Harper's introduction to Cadmus proved momentous. Three hundred new genomorphs began work. Project Match drew closer to target completion every day. And yet, Dubbilex felt little of the expected joy in their brother's progress. The g-gnomes responsible for Match's education, older than Dubbelix himself, reported that the strange, twisted degeneration of the clone's psyche had existed nearly from his creation, and now penetrated deeper and deeper as time passed. Something deeply, fundamentally wrong, something Dubbilex did not know how to combat. The gnomes were not meant to control Match, merely to build his mind, shape it. Yet the cracks kept appearing, the form shifting, concepts warping.

Dubbilex tried. He had been born late, but there may still be time to make Match the hero they needed so. To that purpose he questioned Jim Harper, mining memories of "hero." Jim gave him a wealth, foreign, bright flashes of "savior" and "protect" and "right." Dubbelix passed these treasures to the gnomes shepherding Match, who slid them into the clone's psyche. The joy of protecting the innocent, the pride and power of right action that Jim Harper felt in the very depths of his identity. If Match could learn these things, even so late, then he could still have a chance.

All for naught. The corruption was buried too tightly and too deep to allow the ideals imposed on top of it. These, too, twisted in Match's mind, darkened and fractured into strange, jagged, unrecognizable shapes. Reforged by rage and hate.

They needed to act now. Dubbelix could not believe his elder brothers mutterings that Match could not be salvaged. He was their hero, he _had _to be, no other had the potential. Dubbilex's own telepathic powers were better to reforge minds than the gnome's. One more try. The gnomes drew back their psychic influence to give him space. He tried again.

_Savior-Family-Genomorph-Hero-Savior-Protector-Legacy-Free-Hero-_ Spoken in sensation, in gut instinct, in every way he could think to bend Project Match's mind to the information.

Only to have Match rigidly coil against his intrusion, then lash out in dark, jagged madness. _Hatred-destruction-jealousy-pain-endless-silence-hatred-No-hero-jealousy-hatred-pain-No-No!-NO!_

Dubbelix reeled back with a hissing scream, mind stinging from the sharp, splintered brush of insanity. He only realized he'd physically stumbled when a huge troll hand splayed across his chest, and the distressed murmuring of a thousand thought-voices chorused through his mind.

_I am…I am well, brothers. I am well._

The troll did not let go, and none of them turned their attention. Low, quiet questions flooded every fiber of his being as he trembled. The gnomes sensed the distress in his thoughts, and the other genomorphs through them, and he had to draw back so as not to fright them. Match was…Match was _wrong_, broken, too developed, he could not _change_ him now.

Failure. They had no hero.

He did not let them hear that. He did not let them see.

_He is not well. But we may…we may be able to calm him. Bend his mind to peace. I must think. I must think…_

He soothed them, slowly pulled aside their fear and replaced it with calm. Soon, thankfully, the psychic lanes of Cadmus ran clear and undisturbed.

Save, Dubbilex realized, one voice he'd lost in the chorus of dismay.

_Worry-fear-help?-worry._

Dubbelix blinked. Centered himself against fatigue, pushed back from the troll's hand so that it could return to work. Then he mentally reached out to reassure that last questioning voice. Jake had, since partnering with Jim, developed a more acute sense of concern for those around him, most certainly through connection to the man's mind. _Jake?_

Jake acknowledged the name with a little flutter of gladness, as he did every time. But not long. He quickly launched into a rushed stream of feelings and images. Still recovering from the brush of Match's mind, Dubbelix had to slow him down.

_This is about Guar-Jim?_

He had been remiss, let Jim Harper slip off his radar as Match's degeneration became readily evident. Dubbelix tensed, expecting a report of suspicious behavior, another threat to be dealt with, another blow to their cause.

If they were to have a hero, he _needed_ Jim Harper's mind. It was the best resource he'd ever had.

Yes. Jake's urgency twisted and knotted in Dubbilex's mind, and he allowed it to take him. Jake thrust a memory into his mind's eye. Late night. Seated on a bed of pillows and strange plush material (dog-bed, Jake inserted, in Jim Harper's voice), watching his assignment sleep.

Jim Harper twitched mid-dream, brow furrowed as sparks ran through his mind. Nightmares and empty-memories he did not recall, the scars in his mind roiling in his sleep like waves in water.

Dubbelix's frustration blurred the image. He had neither time nor energy for sympathy to psychically damaged humans. Jim Harper would remember none of it come morning, and Dubbelix had no skill in mending or lessening such scars of self. This was neither his problem, nor Jake's, he reminded sharply. It was a waste of time to report.

_No!_ Jake's insistence made him pause, push aside his fatigue, pay attention.

Mid-nightmare, Jim Harper's mind flared with painful suddenness, like a firecracker. Dubbelix could see the man physically flinch, even in his sleep pressing a fist against his temple, teeth grit. In the memory, Jake startled out of his "dog-bed" and scampered forward, rushing to stem the rush of jarring pain. Dubbelix watched as Jim's mind slowly stilled under Jake's grip.

Jake withdrew the memory, and pressed a core of fear and sorrow and worry at Dubbelix.

Dubbelix scowled and shoved it aside. _I do not have time for this. His pain is distasteful, yes, but of little import to us. You may ease it as you wish, do not report it to me._

Jake protested, but Dubbelix turned the thoughts back at him. _He was damaged upon arrival._ He showed Jim's first encounter with a gnome, accentuating the tics and scars already marring the man's mind. Fractured. Patched. Shadowed. Did Jake not understand the implications? He would have to be clearer._ Nothing will change that. This pain is inherent to his damaged psyche. A cycle he will always suffer under stress. I can do no more than you do now, and-_ Without revealing Match's potential failure, he pressed the choking urgency down onto the gnome, drowning Jake's protests until they ceased in a shudder of fear.

Jake stilled at the sensation of how greatly Dubbelix needed to work. Dubbelix could feel him clinging to Jim Harper's shoulder more tightly than before.

A moment, regaining his bearing, catching his breath, and he regretted his harshness. He had come here to soothe. _He will be alright. He has you to ease him. So long as you keep him safe, he will never know he suffers._

Jake halfheartedly agreed, and curled closer around Jim's mind as Dubbilex drifted away.

* * *

The next day, the most momentous of all, the new project hit full gear, and for the first time a genomorph heard a name: Project Kr. Dubbelix combed the edges of Desmond's mind for any discarded information, but came up empty handed. He was unwilling to risk tipping the scientist off with deeper probing. The huge metal door blocking access to "Project Kr" could not be psychically bypassed without risking the infant consciousness beyond it, if one existed. Dubbilex was consigned to frustrated patience, soaking up anything the gnome-grid could tell him, waiting for access to their new brother. If this project was what he thought it was…

Next, mentions of DNA splicing from scientists, from whose minds the gnomes gleaned flashes of combination and progress, the humans aglow with accomplishment and excitement. They had built something, something new. Something momentous.

Finally, after two weeks, the scientists deemed the new specimen (it was a specimen, now, as well as a project. A new brother) ready for initial mental education. Now Dubbelix waited with baited breath as the three selected gnomes approached the great metal door that had never yet been opened to genomorphs. He had to make a concerted effort not to radiate anticipation and apprehension onto the psychic network.

The information they'd gleaned thus far all pointed to a single conclusion, but he hesitated to raise his hopes. The disappointment with Match still stung in him like a wound, a blow to the genomorph cause he did not want to see repeated.

Now, waiting, he held certain snippets of knowledge close. Clone. Not just clone, though. Dubbilex locked the words deep inside him where the others would not hear, but they were there, warm and unfurling like the wings of a g-sprite. Superclone. Hero-clone.

Jake signaled sharply. Guardian, head of security, had been summoned to project Kr as well, for briefing on its inclusion and exclusion from his duties. To save anyone else the trouble, he carried the gnomes. They crouched comfortably in his big hands, transmitting everything they saw or sensed. Along with Jake, this gave Dubbilex four-part vision if he desired it.

Dubbelix found a corner where he would not be disturbed, and dedicated all attention to gnomes's transmission, seeing through each's eyes in turn.

Desmond stood by the huge KR door, fogging the room with excitement and harried frustration. He'd have preferred to be away immediately, and resented the necessity of Guardian's intrusion. Guardian wasn't blind to this, but tolerated the scientist with distant derision.

"I have them, Doc." Guardian tapped one heel with the other, a tiny, reflexive "at-attention" he offered even to the man he disliked.

"Took your time, too. Come, we don't have all day. Much work remains." Desmond gestured sharply, bony fingers half-fisted, and entered an access code on the door-control. With a heavy groan the metal parted, grinding across the floor.

The gnomes psychically swept the room, careful not to disturb infant minds, and found a single being inside. Directly opposite the door stood a raised pod, its steel interior brightly lit from above. A metal fixture stood prominently within, its surface slightly inclined towards them, empty. All attention immediately riveted to a smaller container by the control panel, a tube on wheels enclosing a small bundle of wrinkled pink skin.

Dubbelix's attention snapped to the infant's face with such insistency that every gnome in the room refocused there, on that newborn, empty mind. He'd met such before, in many genomorphs, but this one had black hair and human's shape. The only other humanoid project was Match himself, and this infant bore resemblance. Only time would tell how close it came, Dubbilex reminded himself. Calm. Wait. Patience.

Desmond's pride flooded the room, and one of the gnomes skimmed the name from his thoughts. Superboy. Dubbilex took it, gave it to the others. Cadmus echoed with the new name as gnomes throughout the complex caught glimmers of Dubbelix's excitement.

He could sense more in Desmond, tantalizing images of the Superman dancing in the scientist's mind, of clones and prestige. Of promotion and tools and a twisted iteration of 'hero' as Dubbelix found within Jim.

"It's…a baby." Guardian's voice broke the silence with a sort of awe, a gut-level reflex even from his damaged psyche. With the genomorphs safely deposited on the control console, he moved unerringly towards the tube with the child (in Guardian's mind, the Superboy was not Project Kr, but a child). Without thinking, he reached to touch through the glass suspending the tiny body, halfway expecting to feel a heartbeat through the tube's walls.

Wary of overburdening so young a creature, Dubbelix shifted to Guardian's mind to draw closer without actual contact. Since first altering the man's mind, access was easy as breathing. Dubbilex could slip down through thoughts to motivation in an instant. Today, he found a very simple desire there inside Jim. All Jim wanted, in that moment, was to take the baby (Jim called it a baby, rather than the scientifically accurate term infant) in his arms and wrap it in a blanket.

"Project Kr is indeed in infancy, Guardian. You are most observant. Do not touch the specimen, I don't want it compromised." Desmond's acerbic words pricked at Guardian, dragging his hand back from the glass, though he would rather have stayed.

Every genomorph in the room could sense, loud and clear, the first flicker of revulsion in Guardian, even if the man kept it to himself.

Desmond checked several boxes on his charts, said nonsense words to attending scientists, and scrutinized his selected genomorphs. At length, he deemed them passable and picked them up. At the hit of a button the central pod swung back its glass doors, baring its bowels, and the humans maneuvered around the metal stretcher to seal the gnomes in their glass globes. Desmond connected the atmosphere and nourishment tubes himself, determined to leave nothing to anyone else's questionable skills.

Dubbelix checked if the three gnomes were settled, and received affirmatives. Shifting on their feet, they prepared to integrate with their newest brother as Dubbilex cautioned them of the care they must take. He recalled Match to them, showed what he understood, the risk, the shuddering pain of madness. Brave little things, they accepted their mission with composed severity.

Guardian had only ever seen power-generating genomorphs confined before, and stood uneasily by the infant's pod he was forbidden to touch. Without thought, his hand brushed Jake's cheek as the identical gnomes were sealed into their glass cages (he called them cages).

All was prepared for their new brother. Dubbelix forced himself to draw away from the three gnomes in their glass bubbles, so they could integrate with the infant without interference. A few days yet of waiting remained before he could directly access the infant (why did Jim call it a child?), and a few weeks more before the Superboy's mind developed far enough to exist beyond the gnome's information inputs. Patience. Calm.

But calm was more difficult than patience. The scientists had given the Superboy similar treatment to Match. This sent anticipation and great apprehension buzzing through Dubbilex, and for the life of him he could stifle neither. Did the Superboy, bear the same potential? And, if he did, did he bear the same weakness?

If the Superboy proved flawed as Match, then Dubbelix did not know what he could do. But he had been too young to know Match's beginning. This opportunity was different. If Dubbilex could discover the break that corrupted Match's mind, and mend it in the Superboy _before_ it happened, alter his education, then perhaps this brother could be the hero they so desperately needed.

Disconnecting from the three left him with Jake, and with Guardian, for Jim's susceptibility to Dubbelix made him almost as accessible as a gnome.

Guardian obeyed orders. He did not touch the container surrounding the child (infant, Jim, it was an infant, and would not be for long). But he stood protectively by it all the same, unwilling to move away. The germ of understanding that great, bright pod's purpose grew slowly in his mind, and Dubbelix did not think he'd ever felt such revulsion in Jim Harper before.

Guardian had to step back as Desmond crossed to his project's container. Oozing triumph, Desmond entered the access code and reached in for the infant. The Superboy, at this moment nothing more than a newborn ball of nerves, did not stir from deep cerebral hibernation, knew nothing, and flopped senseless in Desmond's grip.

Dubbelix had never sensed Guardian so impelled to defy an order. The man physically winced as the Superboy's head slumped forward. "What will happen to him?"

Desmond was not listening to. He laid the small body on the tray, sliding the bottom edge up to it catch the infant in the center and bolting the bar there. The tilt of the tray leaned Superboy's head back, and Desmond arranged his short limbs to each side, exposing the infant's white-covered chest to the bright lights.

Guardian stood tense, brows drawn together, as if he were in pain. "Doc, is he all right?"

"Certainly. Do you think I would put effort into a deceased project?" Desmond scoffed. "I suppose you may attempt to understand; this weapon's requires a great deal of sunlight for its physiology, which, as you may not have noticed, is relatively scarce down here. This chamber provides it with adequate energy. If ever it malfunctions you must inform me immediately."

This answer did not placate Guardian. He shifted his feet, wrestling with the desire to take the child from Desmond's hands, support the infant's head, certain not doing so could badly harm so little a creature. Each "it" on Desmond's tongue dug into him like a sharp dart. "Why is he asleep?"

In Jim's mind, Dubbelix beheld a brief flash of memory – or knowledge, he wasn't sure – that newborn babes should to scream, or else they were stillborn. Dead. The goblin regarded this information with confusion. No newborn genomorph screamed. None made a sound until properly programmed. Was that the difference between an infant and a child?

He'd have to make Jim see the Superboy was not a child. The Superboy was a genomorph, and if they were very lucky, he would be a hero (even Dubbelix was not immune to the power of the word "Super"). But Jim would only bring himself difficulties viewing the Superboy as a child.

"The weapon is _not_ asleep, Guardian. Sleeping infants wake. Then scream and cry and everything else unpleasant." Desmond's triumph made him chatty, speaking in a sing-songy manner even Dubbilex knew was insulting, fit for a much younger audience than Guardian. "It would not be productive to program an active mind. These," the scientist gestured to the gnomes above the metal table, "psychically educate the weapon. All knowledge it requires prior to activation siphons through them." He checked the infant's position once more, deemed it exposed the largest surface possible, and stepped out of the pod.

Something Dubbelix had never seen before formed in Jim Harper's mind, and the man slowly clenched his fists. "Doc, you can't do that. No kid should have to grow up in there."

Desmond's astonishment at hearing those words could hardly overreach Dubbilex's. No provocation had ever moved Guardian to flat out reject Desmond's actions.

Guardian stood still, and the clarity of his purpose, the pure and undiluted need to protect this child (in his mind he called the Superboy a child), was such as Dubbelix had never experienced. It was like the dim memories of "protect," "save," only brighter, burning, a comet compared to dim candles.

His own flash of concern for the man was about as surprising as everything else, but Desmond would not allow-

"You overstep your bounds, Guardian. This project extends far beyond your understanding, but this does not: your opinions have no bearing on what I can and cannot do." Desmond commanded the genomorphs with a cold, precise thought. "The weapon stays."

Jake's correction was swift, jarring, dragging Jim's thoughts and feelings back on themselves. Such swift turnabout must bruise, but the sharpness of it made Dubbelix flinch, even though Jake was careful to block it away from him. Jim froze, winced as the weight of emotion and clarity and purpose suddenly curled back, psychic whiplash leaving him bare and shuddering and unable to breathe, with nothing in him but enforced understanding.

Dazed, he let it take his voice. "It is necessary."

Desmond smiled. "Correct. Close the pod."

Jake started, a little cry of dismay echoing in Dubbelix's mind. Dubbelix felt rather disgustedly impressed. Bending Guardian entirely could be sufficient, but Desmond wanted more. Guardian would not recall his disobedience, Jake made certain of that. Even so, forcing him against his own motivations could crack the psyche from trauma in a mind still capable of resistance. The only reason Guardian would pass unscathed was the hold Dubbilex had already established on him. Desmond was nothing if not effective in cruelty.

Guardian balked more from pain than defiance, still reeling, but Jake stabbed the obedient act into him, fearing Desmond forcing anything else on him. Guardian shuddered and accepted the impulse implicitly, as Dubbelix had programmed him to. The lever fell, sealing the Superboy inside his solar pod.

Guardian's mind was no longer a comfortable place to be. Dubbelix withdrew, awaiting some sign from the three gnomes inside. Desmond did the same at the instrument panels on the control terminal.

After a baited moment, green indicator lights lit up Desmond's screen, and sleepily, as if from far away, one of the gnomes told Dubbelix they were connected, and initiating the first phase of instruction. The blankness, the receptiveness, in the Superboy's young mind, the voracious hunger for knowledge that met the gnomes warmed Dubbelix's heart.

He had faith in this one. The Superboy was not like Match, would not fail like Match. He would see to it.

They would have their hero.


	6. The Hole In My Head

As always, I have a certain fondness for Jim's perspective. Thanks for reading this far.

Chapter Warnings: mind angst

* * *

It took him by surprise. He hadn't suffered a full-on migraine since the second day at Cadmus. Jim knew he had Jake to thank for that, because some mornings when his head twinged the gnome clambered onto his shoulder and pressed cold, knobby hands into his neck until the pain faded.

But not this time. Jake hummed under his breath, which was the only thing that carried Jim out of SL52. He managed up to 35 before the dizziness hit and flashing white spots obscured the far wall of the elevator. He was almost sure the elevator's upward pressure was going to black him out. Hitting the closest button and clinging to the side as it lurched to a stop, he stumbled off, found an out-of-the way wall, and slumped, pressing knuckles against his forehead.

Ow. Owwwww. Breathe, breathe. It would pass, it always passed. He just had to stay awake, stay focused, not fall over. Falling over on duty wasn't acceptable.

Jake's distressed buzzing jabbed into his head, making him flinch, and he remembered that he was still carrying the little guy. Jim reached up, intercepting the tiny hand reaching for his chin.

"Not…now, Jake." He didn't have to, instant telepathy and all that, but he grit out the words anyway, to make sure he could. A g-troll sitting on his eyes shouldn't stop him from speaking.

He actually felt the brush against his mind this time, he'd been getting better about that. It felt like fire, the white spots flaring over everything. "Ahh, ahh, stop! Jake, stop. I don't…I don't think you can do anything…about this one."

Jake withdrew with a squeak. That he hadn't done anything already indicated he couldn't. Jim was sort of glad, wincing as the sudden pain leveled off. Clearly his head had enough problems right now without extra help.

It felt bigger, deeper than any ache he remembered. His temples and eye sockets pounded. Little by little he sagged, head falling into his hands, letting the wall take most of his weight.

Stabbing pain at the base of his neck, the tiles he looked down at started weaving tiny circles, and he wondered if he'd be able to straighten up at all. Jim did not attempt it. _What's wrong with me?_

Something amid all the hurt kept bringing him back to that baby. What had Desmond called him? (Desmond called him an it, but he wasn't one). The…Kr…

Superboy? Superboy.

Just a baby. A tiny little baby, looked barely born. With black baby-fuzz on his head and tiny little fingers and knees, curled up on a metal tray in a glass cage.

"Jake, why did I…?"

Stabbing pain behind his eyes again, until he flinched.

Jake whimpered and Jim felt small fingers brush his cheek, grounding him. He knew why. It was necessary. No other option. Superboy had to grow up in there. Something about being here, being a clone, he couldn't grow up right without the pod. But at the same time, it didn't make any sense. He shouldn't have to…there should be another way.

There had to be, but there wasn't.

A lot of things weren't making sense these days. Maybe that's where the headaches came from, the little ones Jake wiped away. He was pretty sure he hadn't had so many before coming here. He couldn't quite seem to remember. Memory tended to blur when his migraines took hold.

Jim didn't know how long he stayed there in the corner, waiting for his heartbeat to stop hammering in his skull. It didn't ease much, but the next time he looked a g-elf stood in front of him, tail snaking back and forth.

Jim forced himself to straighten. "Hey, Achilles." His offered hand was rewarded with a scaly brow ridge, reassuringly solid. "Are you on patrol?"

The elf sidled a little, ears pulled back as he stepped closer.

"Right. So yes, but you're not supposed to be down this hall. You shouldn't run off without telling people. They'll worry. Did Jake call you over here?" He wouldn't put it past the gnome.

Jake scoffed, and Achilles coughed in his throat. Which, in Jim's book, was a definite yes. The elf hesitated before settling down on his haunches. He was six feet long, as big as a full grown man, but crouched down he was about level with Jim leaning on the wall.

"If you're curious about the new…the new clone, ask Dubbelix. Or Jake. I'm not…" He wasn't entirely sure whether pain or something else cut him off for a moment there. "I'm not really sure anything myself."

Didn't make sense. Desmond said genomorphs didn't feel curiosity. Didn't ask questions, because they couldn't talk. Just like so many other things he said they didn't do, like care and protect. He was either blind or willfully ignorant, because every time Achilles put his clawed hand on Jim's arm, he asked something.

Achilles reached out with uncharacteristic slowness, and laid his fingers over Jim's wrist. He knew where he'd bitten him months ago.

Jim managed a wan smile. "I'm all right. Just taking a rest is all. A little dizzy."

Jake chirped in exasperation, and Jim rolled his eyes. "You shouldn't sell me out like that, Jake." Later he'd try to explain the idea of morale, and lying to those you lead to help them. But that was for a time when his skull wasn't trying to kill him.

The elf gave a high pitched hissing sound, his equivalent of laughter, and Jake seemed to perk up a bit at Jim's teasing. The pounding pressure in his head did ease a bit with the other's closeness, so Achilles' hiss didn't hurt too much. Probably about as good as he could expect. He could manage a whole thought, at least. He couldn't very will sit here all day waiting on it to fade.

Right on time, he heard the shuffling of many g-elf feet, and a pair of boots.

"Uh, Guardian? Jim?"

And that would be Danes, one of the security officers who'd volunteered to help him integrate the elf-patrols. Guardian braced himself and stood. His headache flared up again. Jake shifted uncomfortably in response, but Guardian ignored him. He didn't want his subordinates seeing him on the floor chatting with a g-elf because his head hurt too much to move.

The world weaved unhelpfully, but he'd learned to working through pain blocks while on hero duty. This should be much easier. "Danes, I'll take this patrol. Have the evening off."

He must have looked like a g-troll ran him over, because for a moment Danes contemplated refusing, Guardian didn't have to be a telepath to see it. But Guardian gave him a 'I'm still in charge' look, and the man subsided. "Yes, sir. Do you need anything?"

Guardian retained the presence of mind to smile. Didn't want these guys worrying. He'd probably just worked too late the past few nights. "I'll be fine. Just need a walk to clear my head."

Danes nodded, still uncertain, but Guardian left him with nothing else to say. "Good night, sir."

"Good night."

He was steady on his feet, he was pleased to discover. Not one hundred percent; Achilles could probably knock him flat in seconds. Luckily, though, Danes wasn't psychic. Guardian hadn't realized how important that was until he started spending all of his time around an overly concerned telepathic gnome.

Jake huffed, and Guardian smirked. _You know you are. You're worse than my mother._

A bit of confusion at that, because he'd never managed to communicate to Jake anything like mother or father. Genomorphs only had some concept of "brother." He'd overheard Dubbelix call other genomorphs that on occasion. But geneology, differences in relation like uncle or cousin confounded them. Everything Jim remembered or tried to explain just seemed to confuse the gnome.

His head hurt too much to try right now. Ow. There was too much to explain there.

It still hurt. Still ached and crushed him. But he was standing now, holding it up, and that was enough. He took his hand away from the wall and didn't fall. At his signal, Achilles and the others started down the hall, though they occasionally gave him wary glances.

_I'm fine._

You couldn't lie to a psychic. White lies were transparent, whether "I'm not hungry yet," or "I don't mind." Jake knew he wasn't fine, but didn't protest as they set off. At least this way he had something to do other than stumble back to his quarters, sprawl on the bed blinded by icepacks, and try not to think about little babies in pods and closing doors because you had to. This way was much, much better.


	7. What I Know

Chapter warnings: more mind angst

To evade confusion, this chapter is also Jim's POV.

* * *

After a point sleeping it off was Jim's only option. He had a rough night, tossing and turning, trying to push the pillow down over his head hard enough to drown out the pounding. But reliable exhaustion soon took over, and come morning he was right as rain. Thank God for quick turnaround.

Jake probably would've preferred knowing the cause, but Jim ignored the gnome's niggling worry, and Jake had to content himself. They had too much to do, anyway, always something new to tighten security in the complex, regardless of how faith Desmond had in his genomorph security system. Achilles and his friends were all well and good on the lower floors (who would even enter from below?), but the higher ones needed actual perimeter security. Jim wasted a good hour arguing with Desmond just to obtain proper granting to revamp the outer security system. No, it was _not_ good enough as is.

He had plenty of work to keep him busy, and out of sublevel 52. Thankfully. In fact, three different projects demanded his attention: Kr, Blockbuster, and the smaller Project Firefly aimed at improving g-sprite energy output. Specimen relocation, and security escort and internal data protection. Managing manpower and checkpoint verifications consumed more time than he'd thought possible. His subordinates started leaving 'charity' coffee on their desks on the off chance he'd scrounge a minute to grab it, and Jim didn't even have the decency to feel coddled. Project Blockbuster's containers required his personal supervision, thanks to paranoia a la Desmond.

All in all, Jim had little time for headaches, or babies in sublevels, or much of anything. Jake sent him immediately to sleep each night, so he could get up the next morning right back at it.

A good two weeks got almost everything sorted out. All the Kr equipment was in its proper location, he'd avoided accompanying those, and came through without migraines, and every single g-sprite battery chamber had reached to the proper lab. The internal network security protocols had gone off without a hitch, the data was secure to the third level of encryption, the new manager of surface security reported properly, and the camera systems were debugging. Guardian could breathe.

Only the Blockbuster was left. By this point teams were transporting crates of some sort of blue, fragile crystals. Some of the trolls had bumped elbows yesterday, sending little blue splinters everywhere. Desmond threw a fit, of course. It already made Guardian feel a little grumpy heading down again. Hopefully they'd evade drama today.

He tried to be patient as the g-trolls loaded today's crates onto cargo sledges. Ten crates total, too few to require two trolls, but Desmond disdained human employees handling his things. Mildly infuriating, really. Bitterness and paranoia were all that had the scientist storing his materials down here in the first place.

It didn't help that this batch were on SL 52. Guardian didn't know of any labs down here except Kr's specimen chamber. Desmond's lab was up on SL 10, where the pressure wasn't uncomfortable. If they hadn't really needed to come down here he felt he had some right to be grouchy.

Jake's weight was reassuring. The gnome mirrored Guardian's impatience, tapping his fingers in time with Jim's foot.

"Guardian, status." Desmond stalked down the hallway, and Jim did not roll his eyes. Only Desmond would feel compelled to supervise the relocation himself.

"We're almost set here. Just tethers left." Guardian paused just long enough to avoid rudeness before raising a hand to the comm in his ear. "One moment. Squad 2, status?"

"Route cleared of non-project personnel, sir. All clear for transfer."

"Good. Stand by." Desmond's scowl hinted he may not have entirely conceal the snub, but Guardian wasn't feeling charitable enough to care. "We're cleared and secure upstairs, Doc. Ready to go when you are."

"I've been ready for three minutes." Finding Guardian unmoved by his peevish glare, Desmond turned it on the g-troll, who rumbled in his throat and moved a bit faster with the crates. "Let's go!"

Escort duty was boring. They walked by the g-troll pushing the sledge. As security detachment leader, Guardian lagged behind, watching the upcoming hallway. They were 52 levels below ground, so no actual intruders could appear, but personnel unaffiliated with Blockbuster weren't supposed to see the transfer, and he'd rather send his people to deal with slip-ups than expose them to Desmond's ire at "attempted sabotage" or something.

Halfway to the elevator, as the door to Project Kr came into view, Guardian tensed. That hissing sounded like-

The door to Kr closed with a dull clank, and in the shadows beyond entrance, Guardian saw Dubbelix leaning beside the controller.

Before he could ask, Desmond yelled for a halt. "Dubbelix, what were you doing with Project Kr?" The scientist scowled with all his teeth, storming forward. "You are not authorized for entrance to that chamber! You're not supposed to be on this floor during transfer!"

Guardian let Desmond have his way at first, because Dubbelix wasn't supposed to be here. But then he saw that the g-goblin leaned much of his weight on the wall, and blinked slowly as if dazed, only vaguely reacting to Desmond's questions, as if barely hearing them.

Desmond's face reddened. "Slinking around as usual. I have half a mind to-!"

Actual threat in Desmond's voice, and a little spike of distress from Jake, spurred Guardian forward. "Doc, don't yell at him. This was my fault. I authorized security diagnostics in there this morning, and did not mention the transfer, as it was classified."

Desmond whirled on him. Guardian held his ground.

"I meant to check the schematics myself later. I see Dubbelix did so for me."  
The genomorph raised red eyes to Guardian, and to his relief appeared alert and unharmed. Dubbilex's unsteadiness had made Jim worry about possible injury.

Desmond's eyes narrowed, and he doubtless suspected, as he was quite a smart man. But, thankfully, he was not telepathic. Guardian could not easily lie to Jake, but he could certainly lie to Desmond.

"That seems quite an oversight for you, Guardian," Desmond bit out.

"It is, Doctor, and I'll work doubly hard to avoid it in the future.." Guardian gestured to one of his security officers. "As this was my mistake, I'll rectify it. Tanner, take over. I'll escort Dubbelix from the clear zone and meet you at the elevator."

Tanner saluted, looking a bit concerned. None of them liked leaving themselves open to angry department heads. Guardian kept his eyes on Desmond.

The scientist glared for five full seconds, and Guardian half expected to be ordered aside. But Guardian had pinned him. Desmond's desire to complete the transfer of his "extremely important project" overruled the rest. "Be quick about it!" Desmond gestured elaborately to Tanner and hissed at everyone in general. Guardian felt a little bad about diverting the scientist's ire. He'd make it up to them later.

He steered Dubbelix away from the cargo train as fast as was reasonable, not giving Desmond time to change his mind.

As soon as they rounded a corner, Dubbelix pushed Guardian's hand off. "Unhand me. I am fine."

He hadn't asked, incidentally. Guardian scowled and kept walking next to the genomorph. His understanding of the floor plan down here was only basic, but Dubbilex wouldn't get them lost. No need for conversation Desmond could hear, as Guardian had no doubt the scientist would eavesdrop given the option.

When he deemed them out of range, Guardian stopped. Dubbelix stopped in step with him, as if on autopilot, attention somewhere else entirely. Guardian frowned.

"What were you doing, Dubbelix?"

Dubbelix refocused with an impassive glare. "You did not authorize me," Something just short of accusation in the words. Really? Not even a thank you?

"I am aware. I authorized general entrance for the next few hours, to use later if I couldn't send someone down. I'll have to reauthorize now when I actually do the scan. None of that is important. What were you doing?"

"It does not concern you." Dubbelix turned away.

Guardian stepped in his way. "Actually, it does_._ I am head of security. That includes internal security. If no one is authorized for a door, Dubbilex, that means you aren't either. Exceptions cause accidents. Accidents cause breaches. I don't care where you go, but you can't go there when it's _sealed off_ for security reasons. Not even you."

The genomorph tensed at Guardian's closeness, horns inclined threateningly close to Jim's neck and face. Jim knew, in the back of his mind, that Dubbelix was strongly telekinetic, and attempting to intimidate him was foolish. But he stood firm nonetheless.

"Dubbelix, I wouldn't _mind_ on principle_,_ but you can't flaunt security protocol in front of me. It's my job to know everything that goes in and out in this building. I need to know why and what you were doing, and that it wasn't a security risk. Tell me, now."

No reaction. Glowing red eyes glared, and Jim glared back, and nothing happened.

This was getting nowhere. They had no time for stubbornness. Heaving a sigh, Guardian pulled back, giving Dubbelix space. "I'm trying to help here. Is it that hard to throw me a line?"

Dubbelix paused, tilting back his head so his horns weaved in the air, scrutinizing Guardian.

"I do need to go back to elevator soon, you know," Guardian said tersely.

"I was meeting my young brother."

Not what he'd been expecting. Guardian stopped, frustration forgotten. "Kr. You hadn't…met him before?"

"No. I have not been permitted access, and only received information from his education gnomes." Dubbelix fell silent, then seemed to reconsider and looked up at Guardian. "I had wished to see him, with my own eyes."

He'd meant to be at least a little miffed, rules and all, but Guardian could not fault that. He relaxed, uncrossing his arms. "Then why didn't you just ask? I can authorize people to go in and out."

"I had not thought of the option. Regardless, Desmond will not authorize unnecessary entry. He is quite protective of his projects."

Right, unfortunately. Desmond was reluctant even to let security in. "Then we won't ask him. He'll be occupied with Blockbuster for days once we get him all his toys. I'll be coming down later. So I'll let you in."

Dubbelix furrowed his brow. "You have sought to avoid the project."

Guardian was a bit startled Dubbelix knew that until he realized Jake probably told him. He'd have a chat with the gnome later about privacy, if he remembered. "Preference doesn't interfere with work. I need those scans, and so Desmond can't give you grief I need them today. I'll be down around four, when this mess is done."

He'd been gone too long, and Tanner didn't deserve Desmond any grumpier. "I have to get going. You'll have to stay here till we're done. I'll send someone when the elevator's clear."

"Jake can tell me, Guardian."

Right. Instant telepathy. Why he carried Jake in the first place. A bit relieved, Guardian looked at Jake. "Can you do that down twenty-something floors?" Jake nodded curtly. "All right."

One last glance showed Dubbelix alert and steady on his feet, whatever had occupied his attention before. Guardian gave him a sharp look. "And this time, stay out of the lockdown zone until we're clear?"

"You have an elevator to catch, correct? You should not be late."

Guardian smirked. Ouch. "Yep. Come down later, if you want." He didn't look behind him as he walked away. He trusted Dubbelix to actually stay put until they were done with this.

And if Dubbelix didn't, he wasn't about to know about it.

* * *

Guardian gladly left debriefing with Desmond, so the scientist could direct his attention to his experiments. In general, life was more enjoyable for both of them when on different sublevels. Jim ate lunch, checked patrol and laid out schedules for the next month, until he couldn't put it off any longer.

Still, he hesitated at the door. The glow of the Project Kr insert cast Jake's skin a pale green. The gnome watched Jim curiously, like he was some sort of anomaly.

He shouldn't have said he'd come down here. He'd avoided it so carefully, knowing he'd face that baby in that tube if he came. He wasn't sure, even now, he could handle that. Not without repeat brain-fireworks.

But there was nothing for it. Jake chirruped softly, and Jim shook his head, brushing off the gnome's concern. He came here on a mission.

"If you prefer, I will enter on your behalf."

Sometime in the past few months, Dubbelix materializing out of some shadowy corner ceased to startle him. Jim turned to the g-goblin with a tight smile. "That'd be childish of me." A deep breath, and he keyed in his access code. "But thank you."

Dubbelix inclined his head, and door hissed and slid aside.

"I don't think you have the codes for this, anyway," Jim muttered as he steeled himself and led the way into Project Kr's chamber.

He'd promised himself he wouldn't look. Just work and leave. But that lasted barely a second now he was really here. He looked up.

"Dubbelix, he's-!"

It wasn't a baby lying asleep (he wasn't asleep, Desmond said. Hibernation?) on the tray in that bright, bright pod. Superboy had more than doubled in size, with a full head of black hair and a toddler's stubby hands and feet. His face was rounder and framed by unruly bangs, and he looked like he might wake up and start tearing around the room, a little ball of energy like most kids his age.

Not his age. Not his age at all. Jim stared. "He's…a kid. A grown kid. But it's only been…" Something drew him to the pod. "Two weeks."

Dubbelix stood back, watching Jim with quiet confusion. "Indeed. Project Kr ages at an accelerated rate. He develops roughly a year's equivalent each week."

Sped up aging. Cloning. It made Jim's skin crawl a little, even with the reminders of the good things Cadmus could do standing near him and crouching on his shoulder. Still reeling a little, Jim looked at Dubbelix. "So those gnomes. They keep him…alright, aging at that speed?"

Dubbelix tilted his head a little, as if considering. Then he nodded. "Correct. Accelerated physical maturation requires psychic input to keep mental development apace." He narrowed his eyes. "They safeguard the Superboy; he is their brother. He is in no danger. No call for concern."

Concern wasn't the word for it, but he didn't bother explaining. Jim turned back to the toddler in the pod, with his little half-curls that would probably straighten as he got older. His solar suit (that's what Desmond called it), covered his feet, so he looked like he wore in footsy pajamas.

He'd grown so big in just two weeks. He had to grow up in there, with those gnomes. Jim didn't even want to think what could happen to him without it, somehow forced to change way too fast. Poor kid. None of that made it right. But, maybe, it made it a little…better?

With a soft sigh, he gave in and pressed his hand against the glass. The cold bit at him even through his gloves.

He wished he could ruffle that kid's hair. He wished he could tell him, somehow, that there were people in the room who'd come to see him (he'd admit it, he came to see Superboy as much as Dubbelix had). "He shouldn't have to stay in there."

"He will not." The certainty in Dubbelix's voice drew his attention. The g-goblin looked at Superboy now, red eyes aglow. And, not for the first time, Jim couldn't doubt him. "He will one day walk with his brothers. When he is grown." He cast Jim a narrow look. "They did not create him to store him forever here."

True enough. He could not argue. He supposed he shouldn't let it bother him so much. But it did.

Dubbelix gave a thin sigh. "Calm yourself. Jake, and I before him were raised similarly, and now walk Camdus freely. Project Kr will also have his day."

Jim wanted to believe it. There was something right, something serene, about Superboy's expression as he slept (no, not asleep) in his pod. Waiting. Waiting for the right time, when the glass would open and he'd walk free. He was growing way too fast to be a normal boy who laughed and ran around and swung off trees like a kid should.

But…but, no, it still was wrong. Someone had built the kid that way. From molecules and DNA, cloned him. Someone (Desmond. Desmond?) had made a boy who couldn't be a boy, who had to lie dormant soaking up light, couldn't even open his eyes. That was…_wrong_.

The pain started again, buried dim and dull in the back of his head, but gradually spreading as he stared at the kid. This was wrong. What had he… Why hadn't he stopped it…?

He'd helped? He'd helped make something…wrong. Hadn't he? He'd let Desmond put Superboy in there. He'd let it happen.

Jim winced and closed his eyes, resting his head against the thick, cold glass.

But Superboy had to live in there. They had to wait until he slowed down, stopped aging so fast, before he could safely come out. That's what was important now. Whether it was wrong or not, this kid existed. Needed help to exist. He had the right to live, however he got there.

But there had to be another way!

"Jim?"

Dubbelix. Dubbelix rarely called him by name. Jim did not crack an eye open, knowing the g-goblin would see his sudden headache. "Dubbelix, he'll get out someday…?" It was supposed to be a statement, but the tail end betrayed him.

"He will." Firm. Certain. Determined. It would happen. It must happen. It would be all right.

And Superboy had gnomes looking after him. Always in there, with him. They cared. They were brothers, or something. So it…it was ok?

Hollow and empty and useless. What was telepathic touch if you didn't get to touch anything real? No one should be fed photographs, still images and pale imitations, and told they were the world. Superboy deserved more than that. Real things. A real _name._

"He is safe. His brothers will care for him. Teach him. Jim." A thin hand dug into his shoulder, and if he hadn't been in pain he'd have startled, because Dubbelix never instigated physical contact. "Jim, you look ill."

Pounding in his head, so he could barely hear. But those gnomes were far better suited to help Superboy than he was. He hadn't even noticed it was wrong. How had he not noticed? "I'm…fine."

Superboy would be _fine_.

A small hand touched his neck, Jake's weight leaning in, and Jim's breath rushed out as the pain ceased, evaporated just as strangely as it'd started. He could think. He could hear. Relieving stillness filled him, and with it a clarity so pristine it was all he could think.

He…he'd be fine. Superboy would be fine. It was all right. Superboy would get out. Jim would see it happen, if he had to wait years (years were weeks to that poor kid, and Guardian had time). He'd make up for it, all of it, when the boy got out, somehow. For now, wait. It was necessary. It was necessary.

The gnomes would take care of him. Superboy was safe. Prepared (happy? Would he even know how to be happy?), for when they let him out. The genomorphs. They cared for their own.

Patience. He needed to be patient.

Blinking, bewildered the sudden appearance and disappearance of the ache, Jim stayed still and breathed. He felt Dubbelix pull away. He was starting to think he must have picked up some sort of bug, and he sincerely hoped genomorphs couldn't catch it. Jake especially. The last thing he wanted was to give headaches to a telepath. Jim drew back from Superboy's pod, found himself steady. "Sorry." Rude to fall onto someone's bed, really, no matter what was wrong with your head.

The little kid kept sleeping. (Jim didn't care if he wasn't sleeping.)

Jim gave him a tight smile. "I'll be down later, Superboy." A headache was small price to pay for keeping an eye on the kid. Superboy deserved more than that, but this was all Jim had right now.

Dubbelix didn't say anything, for which Jim was grateful. He was a little wary about noise stabbing his head right now. He hurried to the control terminal and ran his security checks, fixing his attention his hands and not the g-goblin near Superboy's pod. He'd told Dubbilex he could come down to see Superboy, after all, and he'd already used half that time for a speed-migraine. Rude to eavesdrop.

Not that Dubbilex talked. Psychic gnomes involved, after all, and the g-goblin wasn't the chattiest person in the first place. It probably came from mind-talking with people for so long.

Would Superboy be like that, Jim wondered, when the kid got out?

The flatscreen flashed green indicators at him, and he drew his hands back. Looking up, Jim saw Dubbelix standing slightly in front of the pod, eyes closed, head inclined forward so his horns just brushed the glass.

Jim waited as long as he could. He needed to go back, finish evening shift, and call it a day. Having so strong an ache appear and disappear felt like a threat. He didn't want to be on duty when it came back.

"Dubbilex?"

The g-goblin was still a moment longer before opening his eyes. He looked down at Superboy, and though Jim wasn't sure Dubbelix could smile, he was certain a kind of grave tenderness settled in the goblin's features. "Very well."

Silence fell as Jim logged off, and stayed unbroken until the metal door clanked shut behind them.

"I'll authorize you to in there whenever you need to. Should be verified by tomorrow." Jim would file it tonight, but it wouldn't process until the day after.

Dubbelix blinked at him. Something in Jim's face seemed to stop him from arguing Desmond's lack of approval. "I shall wait until I receive notification to attempt entry again." A pause. "That is kind of you."

Jim shrugged, too drained to smile. Thinking about it made him dizzy. Superboy should be able to be near people who cared about him. And, as far as Jim knew, that was Dubbilex (and other genomorphs), and himself. Not a long list, and only one of whom was authorized for entry. Not acceptable. Not right.

Dubbelix bid him good night, heading off to who knew where (he wasn't even sure if the goblin slept), and Jim wandered to the elevator, hoping the swift ascent would not re-trigger his earlier cerebral attack.

Leaning against the wall, he entered a state like sleep, thinking about gnomes and pods and figuring out when in the next few days he could spend some time with Superboy. It couldn't be too hard to fit a half hour into his schedule, and Desmond certainly did not have to know.


	8. What You Won't

Chapter warnings: mind angst

More baby Superboy!

* * *

It was a foolish oversight on his part. Dubbilex checked daily with Desmond's gnome to ensure he knew the scientist's prospective actions. When new broods started or task schedules were reorganized, Desmond was usually the earliest to know. His bull-headed unwillingness to alter plans saw that whatever he conceptualized, he would badger into reality.

But Dubbelix had not wanted to wait that morning when Kr's gnomes sent him the news, had no thoughts for transfers or Desmond or anyone. Kr was ready for further psychic contact, his mind stable on steady foundations. Dubbilex could finally meet him, face to face and mind to mind, to weave the psychic link that would sustain their brotherhood for all Kr's life. Soon, slowly but surely growing closer, he could begin shaping Kr into the hero all genomorphs so badly needed.

Few things short of full power loss (impossible with the sprites working) could have kept him from Kr's side that day. Looking back, of course, he could see he'd been hasty, sentimental, not nearly as methodical as he should have. It would have avoided some discomfort.

But, nonetheless, nothing could replace the sensation of so new a mind uncurling to meet his offered thought, reaching out to clumsily link with Dubbelix. So eager, pieces flying this way and that, no structure, all strength. Dubbilex took Kr's strands and nudged them into order.

First connections had always felt somehow important to Dubbilex. They were a foundation of everything that was to come, a first cemented sensation of trust and togetherness that Kr would not consciously remember, but formed the pathways in his mind that would allow Dubbelix to reach him in times of need. It was the base of everything.

It was beautiful.

He'd been so closely tangled up in the little one, searching Kr's deep identity for the cracks that had caused Match's degeneration, that he nearly missed the chorused warning from Jake and Desmond's gnome as the Blockbuster transfer drew near. It took two tries, plus the added volume of the cargo troll, to startle Dubbilex to reality.

But a first connection could only be swiftly broken without risking the young mind that clumsily built it. Dubbilex would hazard no injury to Kr. Aware the trouble he'd face if caught, Dubbelix freed enough of his consciousness stumble out of the chamber, telekinetically sealing it behind him. With any luck, he'd been swift enough-

Desmond's thundering anger sunk all hopes of that, lancing out like a weapon into Dubbilex's mind, and sending little tremors of alarm from the gnomes. Still half-tethered to Kr, Dubbelix stumbled to the wall, struggling to put up the proper shields without jostling his younger brother's mind. Detached thoughts hovered in the edges as he tried to shove the rush of aggression and suspicion aside. Desmond was always volatile when his own projects were involved. The brunt of his anger was enough to dizzy an inexperienced gnome. Hurt an infant mind.

He would not let Kr catch any backlash.

The scientist's displeasure barely processed in words, just the fundamental sentiment that roiled and jabbed. The dark, spiteful core of threat was not so common, however, and forced Dubbilex to pay attention. Desmond did not often act on that urge, but when he did it was unpleasant.

He was almost finished with Kr. Once they were separate, Desmond could do as he pleased.

Then, to further complicate things, Jim Harper interjected, his normal stubborn goodwill tainted with something else. Dubbelix was recovered enough now to properly hear words.

"Doc, don't yell at him."

Yet Dubbilex startled when the first thing he heard was Jim Harper, an honest man, offer a mere extension of truth, rather than truth itself. "This was my fault." Dubbilex raised his eyes to the man with cold suspicion clenching in his chest.

Jim did not lie. Should not lie. Good men did not lie. Though Dubbilex could loudly sense Harper's goodwill, a surprising protectiveness driving his actions, and discern nothing deeper or sinister in them, Harper was blatantly lying.

Remembering with a jolt the effect his abrupt wariness could have on his infant brother, Dubbilex dismissed all else to fully detach and stabilize their mental link. Desmond's inarticulate demands of explanation passed through him without registry. Guardian was still half-lying, and that set every scale on Dubbilex's back on edge.

He was not quite finished when a hand (Jim's) pressed urgently but carefully on him. A split second's unease and Dubbilex caved in Kr's favor, and so walked without protest wherever Guardian steered him. Physical contact made the man's tumult of emotion difficult to ignore, a whirl of agitation, worry, and, for the first time Dubbelix had felt, frustration directed at him. As soon as he safely ended contact with Kr, Dubbelix pushed Jim's hand aside to quiet the ruckus.

He muttered something curt without thought, contacting Kr's gnomes to ensure his less than serene departure had caused no harm to their brother.

Relief at their reassurances was cut short by a very cross looking Guardian, whose patience clearly reached its end as he stepped into Dubbilex's space. "Dubbilex, what were you doing?"

Dubbilex had not been accustomed to feel the hum of exasperation from Jim Harper. But having gathered himself fully, he was equal to answer it. Guardian's enquiries were unwelcome and unwarranted, and Jim's dishonesty, which Dubbelix had thought beyond the man's capabilities, made every distrust reasonable.

"You did not authorize me."

If Harper's apparent honesty and clarity of identity concealed this deceit, what said his scars did not cover other, deeper secrets from Dubbilex's sight?

Kr was none of Harper's business, and judging by Jake's reports, the man had not desire to the contrary. The project had somehow conflated in Guardian's mind with both unease and pain. Which was fine with Dubbilex. And made Harper's stubbornness in demanding explanation remarkable. And frustrating.

Guardian stepped in his way, for the first time making an act of physical threat, and Dubbilex very nearly countered him telekinetically by reflex. He checked himself, aware that only worsen the situation. Guardian felt this breach of security required and justified his involvement. That, and an incomprehensible whisper of injured expectation nudged at Dubbilex from behind Guardian's frustration, as if Jim's actions deserved some recognition Dubbilex had failed to offer.

Dubbilex scowled. This had gone far enough. He had no intention of revealing his purpose here, but Jim Harper would hardly drop the matter. He was not that kind of man. This left Dubbilex one recourse.

Locking eyes with Guardian, Dubbelix reached out telepathically. Even when Jim Harper was angry at him (he had to admit, Jim clearly was), the man's mind lay open. Though the link was weaker and had been forged through trauma not instinct, Jim Harper was tethered to Dubbelix as was Kr. More so, perhaps, for Jim's mind could only shape as Dubbilex willed it. It would be the work of a moment to overwrite his demands and send him away. Desmond should not be kept waiting.

Yet before Dubbilex could force his will onto Jim Harper, he slammed into a psychic wall. Recoiling in shock, Dubbilex flashed utter amazement at the resistance's origin. _Jake!?_

The gnome met Dubbelix wrapped in a halo of anger. While Jim simply flickered with exasperation, Jake blazed. Dubbelix attempted to correct Jim again, but Jake blocked him with a silent shriek of outrage, and Dubbelix was forced to retreat, feeling the sting echo through him.

Shock felt hollow and cold in his chest. No gnome was supposed to impede him, let alone shield another mind. That defied everything he had ever taught this ungrateful genomorph. Anger surged in Dubbilex, sharpening his thoughts to daggers.

But Jake reached faster, and stalled Dubbelix's retaliation with a flurry of memory. Jim's memory, in fact, of the past few minutes. Though initially Dubbelix tried to tear aside justifications from either man or gnome, it was not as he expected. That first moment Dubbelix had been too tangled with Kr to hear, that instant before Jim lied, Jake pressed onto him Jim's flash of worry and concern as he watched Desmond whirl on Dubbelix. The urge to safeguard and protect for which the Jim Harper had named himself Guardian once upon a time.

Dubbelix hesitated. The lie was…not entirely a lie, he saw. It had been only a lie in terms of Dubbelix's involvement. And there it had been meant…as a shield. A tool, just as the one Jim wore on his forearm. Deployed…intentionally, to redirect Desmond's attention from Dubbilex…onto Jim.

But…but that made no sense. Why had Guardian intercepted Desmond's anger of his behalf?

Jake's anger faded to urgency and worry and fear, Dubbilex realized. The gnome repeated Jim's memory plaintively, as if desperate to make Dubbelix understand.

He did not, fully. But…perhaps enough. Because the same sensation, the desire to help, to protect, raced through Guardian's psyche now, strengthened by the pressures of time and the fires of frustration. It even seemed the frustration tied into the cycle, seeming to stem from unfulfilled desire to aid.

Did Jim really simply mean to help? By lying? When his body language spoke of anger and intimidation? It made no sense. Dubbilex could not reconcile the thoughts he heard with the behavior in front of him.

Before he could fully decide, Jim Harper changed the choice. Realizing that Dubbelix felt threatened, Guardian retreated, arms at his sides. With more wounded concern in him now than anger, Jim looked at Dubbelix with a pained expression. "I'm trying to help here. Is it so hard to throw me a line?"

Jim's earnestness and clarity of purpose swayed Dubbilex yet again, in spite of all suspicion. Guardian's frustration had fizzled now, and alongside his goodwill only a slight scruple remained, a mix of integrity and loyalty to job and to responsibility. That prevented him from simply ignoring Dubbelix's breach of conduct.

He wanted to help. Truly, genuinely wanted to help. The realization calmed Dubbelix, at least in terms of Jim's stubbornness. Jake had opposed him, and this was a worry indeed. But, even so, he saw why the gnome had objected to his impatience. Why wipe the mind of a man who seemed obstinately determined to be useful? That was cruel. That was behavior worthy of Desmond.

Sometime later, Dubbilex would give Jake a stern explanation about priorities, and the stakes associated with protecting a human like that, regardless of reason. But that could wait.

"I do need to go back to the elevator soon, you know."

Jim asked for justification. Earnestly, expecting a good reason, a mark of respect for Dubbelix. In reward for this Dubbilex told him the truth, as far as a human could understand.

"I was meeting my young brother."

In hindsight, even that approximation too closely referenced the genome mind-network, but Jim's honest shock was too unexpected and gratifying for Dubbilex to regret at the time.

"You…hadn't met him before?"

Jim's conviction that this meeting should have been arranged earlier made no sense. Dubbelix could only wonder what customs Jim had lived with before in terms of the start of new projects.

The man's irritation evaporated, as he evidently deemed this reason justified. Only one core of that emotion between frustration and hurt remained. Jim shook his head a little. "Then why didn't you just ask?"

Dubbelix blinked. Asking entrance had never occurred to him, as he'd never thought Jim willing to authorize unnecessary access. Guardian was efficient and good nature in equal measure, to be sure, but Dubbelix had figured those qualities rendered such thoughts improbable. He reminded Jim of Desmond's orders half in an attempt to return Jim to the attitude he'd expected. After all, Dubbelix could doubtless be usefully employed elsewhere in the time he'd wasted to see his brother.

But he apparently was having an off day, because with barely a moment of derision for Desmond, Jim came to a decision that Dubbilex would never have accurately predicted. "I'll be coming down later. So I'll let you in."

Dubbelix stared at him. "You have sought to avoid the project." Jake had reported as much. Dubbelix could hardly blame him; after all, though Jim did not exactly recall Desmond's cruelty, the echo of discomfort must still linger. Even now, he could sense a flickering of unease in Jim Harper's memory at the prospect of Kr. According to Jake, Jim had suffered one of his headaches after installing Kr. Actually, Jake had claimed it was much worse than usual, though when Dubbelix sent Achilles to investigate, the hunter reported Jim conscious and in control of himself, so Dubbelix considered the gnome's report embellished.

Regardless, that Jim would voluntarily submit to that discomfort again, for the sake of a genomorph, no less, and one who had just frustrated him, left Dubbelix confused, and a bit concerned. He had never observed masochistic tendencies in the man before, and worried for his stability if he suddenly developed them now. Dubbilex offered avenues to to rescind the offer, reminding Jim of the unease he could sense.

But the man only smiled and shrugged it off, leaving with an amused and lingering sense of trust, rather than ill will. Even as he walked off, Dubbelix could sense how the thought concept of granting Dubbilex access to his brother, which would doubtless cause Jim discomfort and some unease, made the man…glad.

Smiles were meant, Dubbilex reflected uncertainly, to disguise discomfort. But that made none of Jim's behavior more understandable.

He was forced to admit, not for the first time, that even agreeable humans confused him.

Awaiting Jake's signal (he had no intention of attracting further attention), Dubbelix had ample time to think, and much to think on. Jake's actions still disturbed him, and he had to decide how to react. The gnome's argument had been justified, in this case, but nothing justified blocking his psychic motion. Jake had to know the danger Guardian posed, even now, if his behavior could not be vouched for. There was not up debate here.

Still, Jim's actions seemed aimed at balancing his post and integrity, and his genuine desire to deflect Desmond and be useful to Dubbelix. This was useful, reassuring, if confusing. Dubbilex would have to grant the man some benefit of the doubt in the future, so as not to hastily cut off acts likely intended in goodwill.

Harper's offer, though meant in aid, was not required. Dubbilex had completed the link, and did not need to be near Kr to know his thoughts and dreams, and to orchestrate the superclone's education. Jim was naturally misled in his understanding of Dubbelix's needs. Still, it had been an…unexpected gesture, and a good-natured one. The more Dubbilex dwelt on it, the more he found it agreeable to see Kr's face again, to spend a few moments sharing physical space with his brother. He rarely had that luxury with his kin when they were so young.

Dubbilex had never felt such sentimentality before, and it puzzled him, a strange an foreign thought that somehow felt natural and easy in his mind. Until he realized where he may have received it. Goodness, if he himself picked up sentimentality from Jim Harper, how easily influenced Jake must be, in near constant contact with the man!

* * *

Dubbilex spent the afternoon expecting Jim to change his mind or lose the time for his offer. A psychic signal from Jake, though, ended all suspicions. The gnome requested so softly, so worriedly, that even as angry as Dubbilex was, he could not entirely ignore him.

He would have to keep a closer eye on how contagious Jim Harper's sentimentality really was.

Months of proximity had left Jim's thoughts as obvious to Dubbelix as ambient temperature. The quiet unease permeating sublevel 52 was no exception. Dubbilex followed the hazy trail and found the man rooted at Kr's door by dread, and calm resignation. As with many humans, expectation of suffering sometimes seemed worse than pain itself for Jim, and Dubbelix almost felt sorry he indirectly caused confrontation with this imaginary threat.

It would be easier just to avoid it all together. "If you prefer, I will enter on your behalf."

Jim laughed and ignored his own uncertainties. "That would be childish of me." Dubbelix had never met a man who so readily disregarded himself for no reason.

Then, an impression from Jim's thoughts offered a new conclusion. In some part, perhaps, and no small one, Jim's willingness seemed for Kr's sake. Somehow, his coming here somehow meant to him some benefit to the child (he _still_ insisted on calling Kr a child).

Interesting. Certainly misled, but interesting.

The room held no dread for Dubbelix, and he hung back as they entered, curious. Jake had said Kr's status often passed through Jim Harper's thoughts, disconcerting the man more than it should. Jim was sympathetic to genomorphs, of course. That tendency had always marked him, but he had never shown the propensity to fret over their fates. He was kind, defended Jake from Desmond's distaste for genomorphs, but nothing had disturbed him as this did. Why Kr?

Jim's fixated on the pod in the center, though his task only concerned the computer system in front of it. Dubbelix was unprepared for the reaction. He had never felt Jim so astounded, so deeply disturbed, as now. "Dubbelix, he's-!"

Incoherent, too. Jim's thoughts jumbled, barely more discernible than his words. Beyond that deep, dark revulsion that Dubbilex could not understand, Dubbilex sensed Jim was most unnerved by Kr's swift development. When Jim ordered his thoughts, he tried to say as much, only half managing. And called Superboy "a kid."

That accelerated development, and that "kid" and those "two weeks" all wove into a subtle, noxious flicker of horror running along the base of Jim's mind. Dubbelix had never noticed it before, yet thought it had existed almost as long as he'd known Jim. Suspicion, quiet and ignored, suddenly woke.

Because of a "kid."

Jim looked hard at the Superboy, his distaste coiling so loud, and so uncomfortable, that Dubbelix wondered at Jim's being here at all. The dread ached dully in the dark, cobwebbed corners of Jim's psyche, like a heartbeat. In Jim's mind, a strange connection threaded between him and Kr. The connection was not psychic, Jim's creation alone, with no power behind it. Yet it existed. A sense of…of…affection? Concern? Jim's mind whirled, comparing his own memories of youth (they were jumbled, too swift and confused for Dubbelix to catch), with those he imagined for Kr. And that comparison _frightened_ Jim. Wounded something inside him, a pain that came from no harm he suffered, but perceived harm done to Kr. Empathy? Sympathy?

Why did he react so strongly, so disgustedly, to the child's condition? What claim did Kr have on Jim Harper that no other genomorph seemed to hold, not even Jake.

Not for the first time, Dubbelix wondered what exactly Jim had expected from a cloning facility. Normal development terms were too inefficient. Dubbilex never considered Jim Harper naïve, to be childishly (he called the Superboy a child, who was not, and now he had Dubbelix doing it, curse him) unnerved by matters of business.

Dubbilex attempted to explain, but his words failed to soothe Jim. Jim's conception of "right," of "normal," which Dubbelix had never really encountered, left little room for Dubbilex to explain this _was_ normal. The solar suit was the only project-specific technology in use, the rest was standard procedure. So he tried something else, pushing the promise of 'brotherhood' onto Jim. Jim was human. That should be easy to understand. The genomorphs would let no harm come to their brothers.

Jim trusted the genomorphs without choice. Dubbelix had made him trust them months ago. He could sense Jim bend around the reassurance, letting it hush discomfort in the recesses of his mind.

And yet, there, Jim stopped short. And Dubbilex stared. The resistance could not be voluntary. Jim was _incapable_. Something deeper refused to fade, the hiss of unease too strong, for all Dubbelix's explanations. The surface of a deeper revulsion, and horror, and…and fear? Dubbilex could not trace down that deep. But that…_thing_ held Jim still. Psychically conditioned to accept Dubbelix's words, to bow to his opinions, Jim considered what he said, assented to it, and then recoiled in horror from the thought.

In that moment of fracture, staring at the Superboy there on his pedestal, Jim's unease crystallized into the same conviction that seized him two weeks ago, that had set him against Desmond. Jim knew, as unshakably as he knew his own name, that this was _wrong_.

The visceral rejection disturbed Dubbilex, but not as much as the sudden, vicious ache it drove through the man's psyche. Dubbelix had noticed a dull pain in Jim's mind when they'd entered the room, but thought little of it when Jake did not react. Jim had not complained, unaware of the ache until he touched the Superboy's containment pod. A little twinge there, doubtless from the echo Desmond's order two weeks before. Even so, it had been dim, barely there, hardly cause for concern.

But now, Jim pressed his head against the glass, and Dubbelix could _hear_ the jagged pressure grating behind his eyes. It's sudden appearance was unnerving. This conviction, the idea of the Superboy, of horror and protectiveness and "child", seared inside Jim, tethered like a trigger-wire to some shadowed wound deeper than Dubbelix could see. Reopening it. Aggravating it, until Jim's psyche crackled.

Dubbelix was glad, then that Jim was not psychic, could not link with Kr. Dubbilex shuddered to think what such nearby suffering could do to so young a mind if Kr were able to feel it. Dubilex himself was moved to pity, to worry. Jim's pain was so sudden this time, and so clearly tangled up in the man's genuine care for Kr, however misguided and confused. There was no reason for Jim to feel this. It was senseless. Jake should have stopped this already.

Dubbilex reached for the jagged part of Jim's mind, but froze when a spark of pain was drawn by his touch. Jim's mind accepted Dubbelix's influence, that this was right, necessary, yet the concept of _wrong_ remained, twisted, resilient. Some part of Jim clung to it, even as it tore pieces of him apart.

The two ideas crossed, clashed, cut. They could not exist at once, not without collateral damage. Minds like Jim's were not made to carry such inherent contradictions. The grating pain worsened at Dubbelix's prodding.

Concern drove Dubbilex to touch Jim, to more easily access his mind. That concept had to be excised, like shrapnel, before it did worse than aggravate old scars.

Jake reached with him, all Dubbelix's urgency reverberating in the gnome. Jim's pain cut more sharply at the gnome, so closely connected with the man. Dubbilex could not believe Jake had not already acted.

Jake hissed in hurt and fear and said he _couldn't_ stop this, he'd tried. The gnome's desperation made Dubbilex stop, listen.

Jake was worried. Jake believed (belief, such a dangerous word, one he learned from Jim), Jake believed suppressing "wrong," making Jim unaware of it, would do harm. Because he had suppressed it before, wiped away, but it was back, and this time stronger, deeper, blacker. It recurred. It was somehow fundamental, it was somehow _Jim_.

The wound was worse, or at least aggravated. There was no arguing that. Scars were not supposed to hurt.

Dubbelix caught the thick, sparking web, "wrong" and "child" and Superboy cracking through Jim's psyche, pressed against it. Tremors radiated from it, deeper than he could follow_._ As Jim bent to Dubbilex's will, the backlash flared and burned, "wrong" refusing to break, until Jim physically flinched.

_No-wrong-child-pain-no…shouldn't have to …no._

Dubbelix rounded on Jake. Would he rather Jim suffer this? To have their brother's presence torture him?

Jake shrank with misery, but he did not want Jim to hurt. Dubbelix did not want Jim to hurt. Together, then.

Dubbelix compromised. He did not make it "right," he simply made it temporary. Made the "wrong" less. Jim's affection for the Superboy, though Dubbelix had yet to quite understand it, had deep influence, and so Dubbilex could use it. He pressed into Jim his conviction absolute certainty that Kr would not remain forever in that pod. Dubbilex would see to it. If Jim could but wait (he could because Dubbelix could make him do anything), he would see it too.

The Superboy would be _fine._

And, so long as he believed that (so easy to shape, belief, yet so fragile), Jim would also be fine.

A moment, two, and the stalemate gave. Jim breathed. As the ache died away, he readily accepted Jake and Dubbelix's offerings of calm and peace, exhausted, but seeming little worse for wear. Jim opened his eyes, finally, and Dubbelix pulled back from physical contact just in time.

Jim looked at Kr with a small stir of pity, that same sense of concern and something else, something warm and "guardian" and dimly painful that Dubbelix did not understand. Duller, softer than the pain Jim had just weathered, much more a natural part of his mind, and more welcome. Somehow related to "child," a blurred glimpse of a small, redheaded human.

Jim smiled because of that warm, soft pain when he promised to come down and see Kr. The chance of another migraine did not seem important, not in front of a "child" (not a child. Still not a child).

As Jim retreated to his work, Dubbilex watched his brother quietly, and took pleasure in the welcome that Kr offered when he reached out. No pain here. No cracks or triggers, no darkness. He must protect this. So young they could hardly interact, but Kr held tightly enough for Dubbilex to feel the developing sureness of his mind.

Dubbelix looked at his little brother, and felt warmth. Always, it had been his, but he could not help but wonder if he learned to name it from Jim.

Jim was exhausted but he still waited as long as he felt he could manage. Dubbelix sensed the delay was for his sake. That was some part of "hero," after all, as he understood it.

Jim Harper should stop doing minding others' sakes when he seemed harmed doing so. Dubbelix could not ignore the core of loyalty that Jake that to the man for it, and that was most disturbing.

Yet the unease was a dim thing, and Dubbelix would not think on it now. Jim could never take advantage of Jake's trust. Looking at his brother, who Jim Harper wished to protect, Dubbelix wished there were no Luthor. No dark scars, no deep, hidden webs, no Desmond. Because he could believe now that Jim Harper was a good man. A trustworthy man. Without Cadmus, he would have wished…

But there was too much at stake, too many brothers to "protect" to allow attachment even to a good man. Too much to risk.

"Dubbelix?"

Time to go. Dubbilex bid Kr's gnomes good night and turned to go. It had been a privilege to see them, and he was glad. Grateful, even.

Rubbing his head, Jim paused to make sure the door locked. "I'll authorize you to go in there whenever you need to."

Even Dubbelix could be taken by surprise. The offer, which he sensed was genuine, was so thoroughly unexpected he did not immediately respond. 'Need' Jim said, not want. As if it should happen. And therefore Jim would make it so.

He recognized his own gratitude, but he wasn't certain he liked the feeling. There were no words he knew to offer in response, either. So he settled for a truth. "That is kind of you."

Jim gave him a worn, not-thinking, not-feeling smile that meant he'd heard but not agreed. Dubbelix felt it best to let him go, so he could recover his strength.

He'd prefer to be away from Jim Harper for a little while.


	9. A Bow Without Arrows

Chapter warnings: none

This is probably my second or third favorite chapter in this entire story :)

* * *

Too many beings' futures depended on Dubbelix's for him to be distracted. Nearly since his birth he had been the driving force behind the genomorph cause, a ceaseless task. Jake's wavering (a momentary split loyalties and no further), the tangible distaste Dubbilex felt watching Desmond's treatment of Jim Harper, these could not remain foremost in his thoughts.

Kr grew. And became…something. From his very inception, Dr. Desmond's mind had brimmed with concepts of strength, of "Superman," of "hero," mixed with the same concepts of control and pride a usual new genomorph inspired. The teaching gnomes within the pod showed Dubbelix their curriculum, and he read ideals there that he'd seen before in Jim's mind, though there more alive and vibrant than the greyish definitions the gnomes had.

This difference bothered Dubbilex, and he showed the gnomes the "hero" inside Jim Harper's mind, the concept of selfless and right and "guardian." This, he felt, could make a difference for Kr to have. The genomorph hero must fight for all genomorphs, be a vanguard, a leader, one who "protects." And nowhere had Dubbilex encountered these concepts so clearly as in Jim Harper's scattered psyche.

The gnomes added it to Kr's psychic cocktail. And, to Dubbelix's relief and excitement, Kr accepted "hero" deep in himself, instinctively equating it to "Superman". Nowhere did Dubbilex sense the cracks that had twisted and corrupted the concept in Match.

Patience, however, Dubbilex reminded himself curtly. Kr was too young to be a surety, too undeveloped. Something could still go wrong. Dubbilex still had to safeguard the genomorph cause in other ways, until Kr proved ready to be freed.

Dubbilex would see him free. He would suffer for nothing less. Yet, sometimes, as days dragged by in wondering, whether Kr would fail, whether he'd miscalculated and overlooked some important piece of the puzzle, or when the memory of barbed insanity reared in his dreams, Dubbelix doubted. Never despaired. Only created endless contingencies. What would he do, then? How could he ensure the cause?

It was a dim reassurance, if translucent, to find surety of Kr's release buried in Jim Harper's mind. Jim never doubted Dubbilex (he could not), and though Dubbilex knew he'd created that faith, it still bolstered his spirits.

There were some things, like "hero", and "good," and Kr deserving and thus inevitably receiving freedom, that Jim Harper just believed.

Perhaps arrogantly, Dubbilex had at one point or another assumed he knew all those things Jim Harper would not doubt. After all, he'd had ready access to the man's thoughts and feelings for over a year, and Jim Harper was, or should have been, as well known to him as a refracted psyche could be.

Yet, today, it seemed the television proved him wrong.

Dubbelix rarely ate in the mess halls. He found proximity to so many humans wearisome. They acted as if their inner thoughts were private, and expected others to as well.

However, tonight, he had accompanied a lesser scientist from the sublevels, and did not quite feel deterred enough to descend before seeking sustenance. He was genetically engineered with a highly efficient digestive system, but using telekinetic (and psychic) powers still required relative regularity in his meals. He was hungry.

It was 01:00 in the morning, far past any ordinary human's rest requirements, yet the mess hall was still sparsely populated. The late shift was switching with the night, and these men and women were finally eating the dinner they had forsaken for their duty. Dubbelix retrieved some pale-colored fish from the server, who luckily had a g-gnome on hand to smooth the transaction.

Before he could leave, though, a familiar thought tugged him towards the far corner. Jim Harper leaned against the wall, looking up at the television casting painful blue and white shapes on the walls. Jim was tired, his gloves off, his helmet on the table by an empty tray, and Dubbelix guessed he would fall asleep as soon as he returned to his quarters. But Jim was not the kind to nod off on duty, and so he sat contentedly weary, watching Jake pick up the crumbs from his tray.

Along with everything else Jake had learned from Jim, Dubbelix noted with displeasure, the gnome had developed a taste for a variety of strange and certainly unhealthful dishes.

With the consciousness even non-psychics have of attention, Jim felt the look, and glanced over. He was at first confused, which entertained Dubbelix, but the man broke into a tired smile, and gestured him over.

A half-memory in Jim's mind of something called "high school," with long tables and lunch trays, told Dubbilex the proper reaction. He recalled similar things in Kr's education. He had understood in neither case, and still felt vaguely ridiculous crossing the mess to the man's table.

"I didn't know you ate here." Jim doubtfully eyed the long fillets of fish, still with a few ribs, splayed on Dubbelix's plate. He didn't know what Dubbelix ate, either, but he did not say that aloud.

Dubbelix responded to both word and thought. "I usually do not. However, today necessitated great caloric use, and so I desire additional sustenance. In general, you and fellow employees receive better fish than my brothers and I, as well." He gave a small, dry smile. "I am not above taking such advantages."

Jim laughed, louder than he did when alert and being more careful. Jake cocked his head appreciatively, nibbling determinedly on something breaded and ignoring Dubbelix's disapproval of the nutritional makeup of fried chicken.

By a sort of strange inevitability, Dubbelix found himself seated across from Jim, eating his fish. His small, sharp teeth were ideal for this consistency, and if he understood Jim's word correctly, he found such fare "tasty" when he could get it. If he must endure human employees' strange looks, far better to do so with Jim, he supposed, whom no one could question save Desmond (who never deigned to mix with the "riff raff" anyway.)

Jim watched Dubbilex eat with friendly disinterest, until a word ("Arrow") snapped his attention to the television. Dubbelix had paid no heed to digitized babble, but he sensed a strange, tight ball of anticipation and anxiety stir in Jim at the words "Star City." Confused, Dubbelix turned to look. He had never felt that before.

The screen's bright LEDs slitted his eyes, but he discerned a shakily focused storefront, its glass smashed as dark, masked men shouted and stalked about. The newscaster spoke on, something about "amateur footage" and "don't worry now," when a thin object shrieked across the image, dropping one man to like a stone. Similar dark projectiles peppered the others, as they shouted and drew guns, trying to return fire.

Arrows, Dubbelix realized, as Jim picked out the shapes with the same sense of anticipation. Projectiles with sharpened tips and feathered fletches. Archers were attacking these robbers. How strange. Dubbilex had thought such weapons out of common use. In fact, it was a little odd Jim recognized the weapons so deeply, as if from more than passing knowledge.

One robber dodged, more agile than the others. The camera shifted, following his charge at a blonde man masked in green. Despite his attacker's wild punches, the archer seemed unfazed, grinning widely as he dodged and spoke chattily to his assailant. Dubbelix could only hear odd syllables, but their tone was far too jocular.

This man was familiar to Jim, in a distant, but vitally important way. But still he waited for something, anticipating, hoping, for someone else.

Two more criminals moved to aid their fellow, but a smaller form sprang into their midst, kicking one aside and backflipping to loose an arrow. A blunt end burrowed into his opponent's midsection, and Dubbelix did not need psychic feedback to wince as robber dropped to the ground gasping for breath. The red archer (red, with a few sharp flashes of yellow), twisted around his second opponent like a g-elf, blocking the strikes of a far bigger man as if they were nothing.

The boy won a sharp kick to the ribs and his clumsy adversary dropped. Yet the intensity of Jim's attention marked far greater worth in those few moments than Dubbelix would ever have anticipated. Jim watched every move that boy made, every shot, every dodge or kick, with a warm glow of pride.

Pride, Dubbelix sensed, that also twined with a great deal of…of sorrow, loneliness, pain. And yet this strange contradictory feeling was welcome all the same, surrounded in warmth and affection as the discomforts were.

Speedy, he heard in Jim's thoughts, and, quieter, deeper, more closely linked to that sense of care and longing and pride, _Roy_.

The archer-boy – Roy? – scowled, and spoke to his green-clad, grinning companion. The video failed to capture words, but Dubbelix half expected the boy's exasperation to radiate from the flat screen. The green archer still casually dodged his opponent, an arrow nocked on his bow but held towards the ground, leabing his young partner clearly unimpressed with the display.

Dubbelix agreed. The green one had the conflict well in hand. It was inefficient to drag it onward simply for his own enjoyment. Fool.

His suspicions proved sound. Something, without psychic access he could not tell what, shifted in the green man, and he loosened his bowstring, holding the arrow unneeded as he struck an unarmed blow. His opponent hit ground and lay still. Dubbelix wished he could have felt the sudden switch within that archer then. His initial instinct to disregard him was shaken by the green one's clear skill.

As the newscaster explained the incident, the image of the boy in red, with his drawn bow and masked eyes, faded away. In Jim's mind, however, he remained with both his names, a collage of overlapping memories. Dubbelix heard Roy's voice, saw the shock of red hair that he kept cut short on his head, his eyes (very blue) that he concealed under that mask.

Never had he felt from Jim an emotion quite like this, so close a care.

Jim seemed to sense both Jake and Dubbelix looking at him with sharp interest. He shrugged, leaning down on his elbows. "Speedy. My nephew."

Nephew was a strange word to Dubbelix. It was related, he knew, to "family," which he somewhat understood. He and his brothers, by shared origin, were "family." For Jim, too, the two words were intimately tied, in fact two derivations of the same. This…this Roy Harper (he and Jim owned the same name, Dubbelix saw), was family to Jim Harper in like manner Dubbelix's brothers were to him.

But…"nephew" was not brother. And so much _feeling_ hinged on Roy Harper, and not all of it good. Along with that warm sense of "family," Jim felt shame, contrition Dubbelix did not understand, and something like longing he could barely sense.

Jake must have communicated puzzlement, because Jim smiled at his companion. "Nephew. My brother's son. The only living family I have." He paused, not to calculate, as he knew the age instantly, but to debate what information he should share. "He'll be turning eighteen this year." Pride for that, too. It seemed Jim was proud of everything Roy Harper did.

Eighteen years. A long life, far older than Dubbelix. So why did Jim's thoughts of this eighteen year old boy link to those of a small, redhaired child somewhere in his mind? Dubbelix recognized the desire to protect, to help and shield, that Roy Harper won from Jim, but he had never seen it so intensely. That was one kind of "love," yet Dubbelix had thought even humans reserved love for brothers and sisters. Not "nephews."

The term Jim used for this relationship was "uncle". Dubbelix would have to search through other humans' minds for more information later.

Jim lapsed into silence, mind full of archers ("his" archer, a fond possessiveness he would never enforce), and the quiet mix of warmth and pain he welcomed even as it hurt. Dubbelix could sense how deeply, how strongly Jim felt for his br-nephew. It seemed strange Jim should be content to remain at Cadmus so long without some contact between them.

"You do not often see him."

It puzzled him. Dubbelix's "family" was based off common origin, and subsequent interaction. His guidance of his brothers stemmed from their shared situation and dependence on his skills. When they departed, they remained brothers, but he ceased to consider them, concerned with betterment of the whole. Yet, here, Jim's memories revealed that he had only seen Roy Harper with rarely over the past years. In fact, Dubbilex could only glimpse two distinct memories of this nephew face to face. All the rest were observances from afar, like this one.

Jim shrugged. "No, not in eight or nine years now." He lied, he knew exactly how long it had been: eight and a half years, come August. Something in that hurt, too. "He was adopted a while back, by a good man. So he's got what he needs. I wasn't…in the states at the time, so R-Speedy..." He balked, realizing how close he'd come to saying "Roy", and not "Speedy" as apparently corresponded to his bow and mask.

Dubbelix wondered vaguely how heroics could be genetic. He sensed, however, far more than Jim said. The green archer cared for Roy Harper. Jim even knew his name, his real name. Not the one behind which he shielded himself, like Jim covered his tight, tired smiles with "Guardian." Oliver Queen, the blonde man with a wide smile and more money than any Harper ever earned. The man who had been there, all those years ago, when Jim had not. It was the green archer who made Jim Harper unneeded.

Jim did not feel bitterness towards Oliver Queen. He did not blame him, or Roy, for the gulf of eight years. "Speedy doesn't really need to see me."

Jim Harper had made himself unnecessary. The thought echoed so loudly it deafened Dubbelix, and the history laid itself out for him in vivid chronology. Years ago, Roy Harper lost his parents. The bright eyes and messy knees of that red-haired child swam in Dubbilex's mind's eye, wreathed by that sense of "guardian," of "family," protect and care and warmth. Love, Dubbelix supposed.

Only Jim had not guarded. Not protected. Jim had not known, for years. Even Dubbelix took a tight breath at this, because this pain was not an unrecollected wound in Jim's mind. It was a memory, one he had felt many times before, and would feel again. Guardian had failed, and failed his own. Jim had only been seventeen when Roy Harper was orphaned, in no place to receive news of any kind, barely capable of supporting himself let alone another. Four years later, he learnt of his brother and sister's deaths the same day he first heard of Oliver Queen, of the rich man's new ward, fifteen and no longer the boy who'd needed his uncle.

Four years, scratching a life who knew how (Jim knew enough, to be ashamed to ask forgiveness), and not a word from his uncle. Jim did not blame Roy for resentment or anger, for abandoning the family who had, inadvertently, abandoned him.

Jim smiled a little. "But, whether or not he sees me, he has an uncle. I like to check in like that, when I can." He sounded tired, but strangely content. It had been some time since he had last glimpsed of his nephew.

Dubbelix had never encountered the strange concept of caring for one so distant, who never would (Jim was certain) return any affection. "Family" meant coalition, meant genomorph cause. If Dubbilex and his brothers did not hold to feelings of familiarity and cooperation, they would toil forever and die enslaved. He did not understand.

Jim had no ties to Roy Harper now beyond blood, shared nothing but a name. Almost a decade late now, Jim accepted he had no bearing on the boy's character. The role of protector, teacher, friend, and their rights to pride and affection, belonged to another man. Jim's fondness memories of the brother (a relationship that Dubbelix better understood) who secured his connection to this boy was even distant and dim. Their ages, almost fifteen years apart, had set Jim far closer to Roy's generation than his dead sibling's. How strange.

And Jim still felt pride, and affection for Roy Harper, without reservation. If…If Roy called him tomorrow, Dubbilex actually would predict Jim would drop everything for his nephew. A boy he had not spoken to in a lifetime, since Roy was ten (a child) and Jim sixteen (younger than Roy now). How many could boast of holding such sway on a man?

Dubbilex frowned. "He is fortunate."

Jim looked at Dubbelix, and his gratitude was loud, overlaying the rest. Just as loud as the knowledge, immutable in Jim's mind, that he had long ago relinquished any rights to that statement. "He is. But that's to his credit, and not mine."

_I failed him a long time ago._ Jim's thoughts were sometimes in his own voice, sometimes in others'. Now Dubbilex heard a curious mixture of Jim's and of Roy Harper's, which Jim had learned through the televised snippets of his nephew's life. They sounded quite similar, clearly proclaiming their shared genetics. Dubbelix did not restrain a small hiss. Humans habitually guessed the thoughts of those they cared for. Their woefully low accuracy had long exasperated Dubbelix. Nonpsychics were so difficult to work with at times.

Someday, he decided, he _would_ check Roy Harper's thoughts against Jim's predictions, to judge the boy's foolishness in gauging the worth of his closest relative. Dubbilex's faith in genetics inclined him to assume Roy Harper to be reasonable, yet if he dismissed Jim so easily, Dubbelix could not think well of him.

Either way, he had a great deal to think on. Dubbelix finished his fish in silence. Jim stared to an indiscriminate point in the distance. His mind was elsewhere, slowly and calmly processing Roy's resurgence in his system, the fierce care and its equally fierce regret. He had done this many times, and would do so again, waiting out both emotions until they settled into a constant, calm truth.

He only stirred when Dubbelix stood up. "You leaving?" It was rhetorical, so Dubbelix did not answer. Jim spoke mostly to signal he'd been paying half a mind to his dining-mate, an unnecessary but polite gesture. "Good night, then."

Dubbilex hadn't grown accustomed to such empty, daily farewells until this man. He picked up his tray and, after a moment's consideration, took Jim's as well. "Go rest."

Jim chuckled slowly. "Yes, nanny."

"Good night."

He got about a step before, "Dubbelix?"

"Yes?"

Jim cracked his back as he stood, lifting Jake to his shoulder. "You should come up here more often, if you like the fish. It's nice to have company."

Jim must be more tired than Dubbilex had thought, if he preferred the company of a dispassionate genomorph to that of his fellow humans. Dubbilex resisted the urge to chuckle. "Perhaps."

Jake told him when Jim fell asleep that night, so that worry soon eased. At least the weariness would be taken care of. As Dubbilex himself settled for a his own rest cycle, he considered much.

Further reflection showed him what he'd found familiar in Jim's feelings towards Roy Harper. That concept of "child," the quiet warmth and willingness to endure pain, that made Jim return to Kr day after day and risk a resurgence of his migraines, these came from his relationship with Roy. Jim had suffered on someone's behalf, caring while relinquishing, for longer than Dubbilex had even lived. And the fierceness of Jim's desire, his near physical need to protect Kr, to provide him with the amorphous concept of "right childhood," stemmed directly from Jim's failure for Roy.

Jim did not wish to fail again. He knew what that regret felt like.

This realization knit a small core of pity in Dubbilex's chest. Why must the man always choose to care for, strive to guard most closely, those who could never know of his affection, of his loyalty?

And those he could not have helped failing, would never have a choice.


	10. Standard Office Hours

Chapter warnings: noneThanks, readers. :)

* * *

Once he found it in himself to come down that first time, Jim settled into a comfortable routine. It started with a headache in the morning, once every five days or so. They were definitely growing worse. Jake would help him through first shift, holding the spikes to a minimum so he could think, then come lunch Jim would eat, take an hour off, and head down to sublevel 52.

"Hey there, kiddo."

Jim liked to pretend Superboy turned towards him over time. He'd blatantly disregard Desmond's preferences and walk straight to the pod. He did not touch it, mindful not to disturb Superboy's safety. Instead, Jim sat and leaned against the control panel, looking at his hands and speaking quietly, pretending Superboy could hear through the glass.

"There's supposed to be a storm hitting tomorrow. I'm curious if it'll impact us at all in here. If we'll even hear it. I mean, you won't all the way down here, of course, but it could interfere with electronics upstairs. So long as that doesn't happen, it'll be fine. You'll see, in your first storm, that thunder makes a really huge sound, but you shouldn't be frightened of it. If you catch a glimpse of it, lightening is actually pretty, as long as you're safe inside."

Talking to Superboy always made him feel better. Jim wasn't sure anymore if the kid gave him the headaches, or soothed them, and he hardly cared. He couldn't bear the thought of the boy alone down here.

Superboy grew with terrifying speed. He was grade-school age, now, probably between sixth and seventh grade. Someone, though Jim never saw who, adjusted the stretcher as Superboy grew, so the kid remained stable under those solar lights. Superboy never opened his eyes, though on rare occasions Jim thought he saw them wander behind their lids, as if Superboy were dreaming.

Jim hoped to God he dreamed.

"I saw Roy again today." As Roy Harper, too, which was rarer than seeing Speedy. In the background of some white-noise gossip show, Roy had stood, hands in his pockets, raising an eyebrow at his guardian's back as some anchoress oohed and aahed over Oliver Queen's latest strange purchase.

Jim leaned back, letting the cold of the terminal ease an ache settling in his shoulder blades. "I wish I could introduce you two. You'd like him, I think. He'd be good for you. He's a bit brash, but he always tries to do what he thinks is right. That's nothing to scoff at."

He was gaining skill at holding one-sided conversations. It had been strange at first. But now talking to Superboy like this felt…simpler. Maybe he couldn't take him out, but he could tell him things.

Other times, when the desperation to _do_ something rose in Jim again, he told stories, made promises. "There's this great ice cream place downtown. It's small, and kind of crooked, wedged right next to a used bookstore. I used to stop in there for a mint-chocolate sundae when I had the time. If they tell you that you outgrow the sweet tooth in there, they're lying. Can't happen. They really knew how to do their sundaes right down there, heat the chocolate sauce before they put it on so it'd start melting. Trust me, you can't just put cold syrup on a sundae. I'll take you sometime, show you what I mean." Jim managed to look up at the sleeping boy's face. "When you're out. We'll go together. You'll like it, I promise."

Jim told Superboy a lot of things, about how to know it would snow because the sky turned white, and how snow was good for fights and sculptures and making angels, no matter how old you were supposed to be. How he missed the white coating on the firs outside his house when he was a boy, and rolling around in the snow with his big brother, who in highschool had still had heart enough to spare for a toddler.

How if you sniffed peppermint you'd sneeze, but Jim did it anyway because he liked the rush of cold it sent through his throat. Sometimes discomfort like that could be a good thing, a cleansing thing, helping him keep his head straight.

How Superboy should be careful to pay attention to his family, make sure he kept them safe, or else he'd regret it for the rest of his life.

"It hit like a truck. Really did. And it doesn't make any sense. I hadn't seen him in six years. And that was…that was ok. I felt fine. But he was dead for four of those. It was only after I knew he was gone that I missed him. What's up with that? People shouldn't be like that. Even after everything, Will was my brother. We weren't close. I was too young for that. I mean, he moved out when I was twelve. But…but he looked out for me, always, when he was home."

Jim sighed through his teeth.

"And I told you how well I returned the favor with his son."

And sometimes, he just talked.

"You're growing up in a city. Washington DC, though maybe you don't know that. I wonder if you can hear the subway, even down here. But, listen, when you're out, you have to go and find a place where you can't see any buildings. Just surrounded by green. Then sit there and listen. It's a rare thing, to be away from people. It used to happen to me on stakeouts a lot, and it really struck me, since I spend so much time in cities. There's something…" Jim faltered, fingers grasping at shapes he couldn't articulate. "Something clear about a place like that. I can't describe it. You'll have to see. You'll see."

A little buzz poked at the back of Jim's mind, Jake signaling a patrol switch upstairs. Jim had realized the gnome could do that sometime this spring, and that he could use it to check problems indirectly. If a group weren't in on time, this way he would know to check surveillance and ensure nothing bad happened.

Nothing unusual, Jake reported. Good.

"Oh, that's something. Another complaint this morning. I'll tell you, sometimes Cadmus doesn't plan well for its employees. Some of the upper sublevels were built ten or so years ago, before they'd engineered the genomorph species. I'd have liked to see the expressions on those engineers' faces if they knew what critters they should be building for. G-trolls can't fit. Too tall, and so the execs dispatch g-elves instead, to do heavy lifting and high reaching. Can you imagine? Three elves up on each other's shoulders to reach the top, like some Jenga tower. I'm thinking of requesting a few lifts for them. They're smart enough to operate them, if someone shows them how, and then they'll be much more efficient."

He paused. "Do they tell you what Jenga is in there?" No answer, of course. "It's a blocks game, where you try to build taller without knocking over the tower. Roy used to play it all the time. He'd get so frustrated, his dad said, when he knocked it over. He always wanted to add creative things, sticks or the tv remote, you know. He'd end up just toppling the tower and throwing the blocks. He's had killer aim since he was a kid."

Another buzz, more insistent, making Jim tilt his head. That one wasn't normal. "Well, kiddo, they need me upstairs again." Jim stood, cracking his shoulders, careful not to knock Jake about. "You stay out of trouble."

As if there was much trouble here worthy of a kid.

The contrast always struck him between the quietness of Kr's chamber and the bustle of Cadmus' top two levels. More human employees worked up here, clogging the elevator areas with a criss-cross of activity. It took Jim longer than he'd have liked to wade through to the security office.

"Who called me?"

"Here." Dan Jones, one of their network watchdogs, scooted his chair aside to make room for Jim. "Data breach down in the lower labs. Sublevel 51. About three minutes long, by the look of it, of a S.I.M door losing transmission. I wouldn't have called you for something so small if it weren't classified. I can't even access whether we're talking a lab door or not. I sent you the report."

"I'll take a look. Go grab yourself a coffee."

"Yes, sir! Anything for you?"

"Chai, thanks." Jim waited until the lesser officers returned to work before accessing the classified level schematics. Brow furrowed, he scanned the particulars, forcing himself to translate computer jargon into usable information.

It was a lab door. The designation was unfamiliar, corresponding to a project Jim didn't know. The door had spent three and a half minutes offline, before the computer's automated power tests rebooted it. After that all diagnostics checked out.

Not a long time. The power-check was designed to take care of little malfunctions like this. A building Cadmus' size, couldn't help it; it was actually a tribute to the engineers more doors didn't malfunction in a day.

Still, better safe than sorry. Jim had never heard of Floor 51 acting up before. In fact, he'd barely heard that floor mentioned in the first place.

Frowning, he settled deeper in the chair, accessing the system log for floor 51. All Cadmus computers linked through a hellishly complex web of data transfer. Everything was recorded, every byte of data measured. He could cross check it.

Even Jim's clearance, however, would only take him so far. Not only Desmond was paranoid; most of the scientists jealously guarded their experiments. Whoever used SL 51 seemed no different, as his search returned no project names or descriptions. But Jim was high enough tier that he could bypass first and third encryptions to view the past day's data transfers.

The titles were tortured combinations of science and computer jargon; he wasn't qualified to tell one from the other, ordinary from unusual. Instead, Jim keyed to several charts of the past week, and located the time when the breach occurred.

There. That file was the same on all data transcripts: same name, same origin and reception time. Only, today, during that breach, the attached file was more than twice the normal size.

Not really evidence. Jim was no programmer, the name of the file mystified him. But, if heroing taught anything, it was to value hunches. Jim wrote down the number and the size discrepancy, then deleted the transcripts and logged off the system.

By the time Jones returned, Jim was back in his office, deep in thought. He did not notice the tea brandished in his direction until the second time Jones said his name. Jim thanked him and burnt his tongue on the first sip.

Patience, Harper. Patience.

It shouldn't bother him. Little data hiccups were bound to happen in an institution this intricate. And it was next to impossible (even he had to agree with Desmond on this one), for anyone to reach sublevel 51 of this building without tipping Guardian's security measures or the genome patrols. No one could have used that breach, so brief and so deeply buried. It was an empty danger.

And yet something still nagged at him, as if he'd missed some important fact to justify his unease. Jim wracked his memory, searching for any mention of software that could pass undetected through the Cadmus system. After all, a person didn't need to use that door if they wanted to store data on it or through it. But he came up with nothing.

The tea was not quite so burning this time, and Jake blinked at Jim as he gulped down a quick, bitter mouthful. Settle down. If he wasn't careful, this place would make him paranoid. "You want some?"

Jake did not appreciate the evasion, though he did like tea.

"I know, I know." Jim shook off the disquiet as best he could. "Enough to do without investigating every little computer failure. Let the tech guys do that." Jim offered the tea again, and Jake took a delicate sip, maneuvering with difficulty to reach the cup with his mouth without bumping it with his dewlaps.

"Do you know what's in that lab, anyway?"

Jake did not. It was older, he explained, than he was.

Jim had worked here over a year now, but still sometimes it was hard to remember just how young Dubbilex, and Jake, and the others were. So whatever was down there was older…Jim hadn't really thought about that before.

What had Cadmus been up to before they had genomorphs?

He'd have to mess with that one later. Thankfully (he'd have to figure out when his ridiculous schedule had become a blessing), Dr. Spence called from SL 5 for him to vet her security proposal for Project Firelight's next phase.

Guardian set his lieutenant to hold the fort, and pulled his helmet back on.

* * *

Dr. Spence was focused and brisk, but she was also more reasonable than Desmond, and set up her suggestions with a keener eye to reality. Guardian only had to alter a few minor sections, so the conference was quick and both of them could move on with their work. Reaffirming the existence of sane scientists improved Guardian's mood, and he hummed to himself as he left the lab.

A quick check with the office revealed no new developments requiring his attention yet. The science department had not answered his request for information on Lab M206I, as he'd expected. Guardian suspected that lab was one of Desmond's, or at least had been once. The head scientist liked to cluster projects in Cadmus' lowest levels. If that were true, Guardian would probably never hear two words about the place, let alone gain permission to check the security protocols. Barring, you know, building-shattering emergencies.

Hard knuckles bumped his neck, under his ear. Guardian scoffed. "Don't get pushy. It is my job to consider worst case scenarios, you know. It won't hurt me to be careful." Jake hmmmed and shifted his feet.

"Oh, thirsty?" Jim asked rhetorical questions, even though the affirmative answer was already in his head. He was fine receiving telepathic communication, but he found speaking silently still a bit claustrophobic, not hearing the sound of his own words in the air. "Well, we can fix that."

While Jake could eat most things Jim could, genomorphs received most of their sustenance from a vaguely beige colored liquid composed of more nutrients than Jim knew by name. To Jim it looked like mud, honestly, sandy mud, but it was apparently good for them, and Jake drank it up as happily as he ate lettuce, so it did not apparently taste too appalling. Dispensers of this sludge waited in most corners of the higher floors, for employees' convenience if their companion grew thirsty.

Jim had one favorite feeding station, tucked in a germination lab on SL 3. Here strange plants grew in gnarled and twisted shapes through a room flooded with fake sunlight. A fodder-dispenser hissed quietly in one corner, ostensibly for the g-dwarves that monitored the life-systems of the plants.

Once the door closed behind them, Jim relaxed and smiled at a confused g-dwarf. He lowered Jake to the dispenser-tray, and left him to eat his fill. The false-daylight overhead wasn't a perfect imitation, but it was the best he'd seen in here, only a mite painful after long periods, gentler than fluorescents. The plants lent a clearness in the air, and if he closed his eyes he could almost trick himself that he was outside somewhere empty and quiet.

He hadn't been anywhere like that in a long time.

A little, gentle feeling tugged at the back of his thoughts, benign and barely perceptible. Jim did not open his eyes. He'd recently noticed that sense of Dubbelix's presence, a soothing sensation he still couldn't quite explain. He didn't know if he was picking up the feeling from Jake (that happened on occasion), or if it was merely a function of genomorphs.

Regardless, Jim was reasonably sure Desmond couldn't feel it, because the scientist often complained about Dubbelix's skulking in the shadows. For almost a quarter year now, Jim hadn't been surprised by the goblin once.

"You always return to this lab when Jake requests food."

Dubbilex sometimes knew the strangest things. Jim shrugged. "Not always. I like the plants in here, though. It's like a green house, a little." If one five floors below ground.

When he looked, Dubbelix was shifting a petri dish of sludge back and forth across the tray, avoiding Jake's feet by precise millimeters. It wasn't like the goblin to waste motion.

"What are you doing here, Dubbilex? I didn't think you usually ate on this floor."

"Drink, Jim. We drink." As if realizing he was being observed, Dubbelix sipped delicately at his gruel. "And I normally do not."

Which meant Jim wouldn't be receiving an explanation. Figured. Ah well. "What are these plants for, anyway? Do you know?"

Dubbelix set down his empty dish, flicking residue off his lips with a pointed tongue. "The lower leaves are harvested to make medical tinctures; they fuel regeneration of damaged cells. The flowers' petals bearing a scentless, tasteless toxin that renders targets comatose until an antidote is administered. And some part are added to this we eat, though I've always preferred not to investigate further." He shrugged. "These plants are not sentient, and thus not genomorphs, but they are similar; genetic amalgamations of all useful plants Cadmus has created."

Jim didn't pretend to be comfortable with genetic experimentation, even after all this time living with it. The toxin Dubbelix mentioned unnerved him. But foliage was still foliage, whether genetically engineered or no, and that was too precious to dwell on the rest.

Jake finally stepped back from the tray, cleaning his face somewhat like a cat. He chirped in satisfaction.

Dubbelix tilted his head. "He has been eating more often, it appears."

"Yeah. I figured he might be coming down with something. Extra fuel for the immune system. Do you guys get sick?"

"Only with extreme rarity. We are largely immune to human pathogens, and stringently supervised to prevent contagious disease." Dubbilex narrowed his eyes. Jake, for his part, continued cleaning without acknowledging either of them.

"That's reassuring, at least." Jim hesitated, half-certain neither genomorph was listening to him. He'd never quite seen Jake's give Dubbilex the cold shoulder like that. Almost like there was an argument going on he couldn't hear. May as well interrupt. "I'm glad you dropped by, Dubbilex. I was going to go looking for you later. Take this."

The g-goblin scrutinized the small contraption in Jim's hand without moving. "That is a comlink."

Jim chuckled. Observant. "Yes, it is."

"Why are you giving this to me? You carry a telepath on your shoulder."

"Yes, but I've noticed you don't. So you should have one. In case. In an emergency, I'll need your help to manage the genomorphs. If something should happen–"

"You are not speaking sense. Even should unforeseen difficulty arise, you may have a genemorph summon me, if I am needed. There are hundreds of psychics within this complex, Guardian. At least one will be able to reach me." Dubbelix crossed his arms. "And this is a strange concern to have now. Has something happened?"

"No." Anticipation, suspicion, they required concrete data. Any hero who lasted past their first spring knew that much. All he had was intuition, something honed by that chancy business, but that you couldn't use in briefings to justify action. Sometimes Jim missed not having to write progress reports. "No. It just occurred to me this morning, is all. If the worst happens, we may not have time to go through a two, three part process." He sighed. "Just take it?"

"Very well, if it will calm you." Dubbelix tucked it into one of his pockets. "Satisfied?"

There was just enough sarcasm to bite there, but Jim smiled and meant it. "Thanks, Dubbilex." He patted the goblin's shoulder and crossed to gather up Jake. "I know what it costs you to endure this human's illogical tendencies."

"Do not push your luck, Guardian. You reached the end of your amusement value almost a year ago."

Jim waited for Jake to settle so he could feign a chest wound. "Ouch. That one stung." He took a last look at the dark green leaves with purple veins cluttering the ceiling.

"You will tell me if Jake takes ill?"

"Absolutely." Jim made to leave, but stopped at the door.

Dubbelix watched. Patient. As if expecting the next question.

"Do you know what's on Sublevel 51, Dubbelix?"

Red eyes pinned him, and it was rare he could so clearly read Dubbelix, but Jim's had no doubt this time. He'd guessed right, he didn't have to ask to know the answer. Yes.

"I do not."

Not a tremor, not a twitch of Dubbilex's face. Cadmus really did quite a job on their genomorphs. Expression cues, whether emotion or dishonesty, were so hard to read on a face plated in grey scales. Jim half-smiled. "Ah. I figured. No worries. Just wondering." He felt Jake tense, and automatically ran a finger over the gnome's ear. "Have a good day, Dubbelix. I'll see you later."

Dubbelix's eyes glinted, redder than usual in the dim shade. "Take care, Jim."

Later that evening, Jim found himself down with Superboy again.

"You probably wonder why I didn't call him out, if I knew he was lying. Right? I bet you'll be that kind of kid. I know Roy'd be furious, someone lying about intel like that. Especially someone he trusts." Jim watched Jake wander across the keyboard on the control panel, investigating each button in turn. Only in the last few months had Jake started venturing more than a foot away from him, and Jim felt strangely proud of his curiosity. The little guy disassembled the tv remote yesterday purely to see how it worked.

"It's…complicated, but you'll learn when you come out that people lie for a lot of reasons. It's pretty daunting sometimes to figure out why. I don't think this is the first time Dubbilex lied to me. But I do believe he has always done it with good reason."

He blew out a breath. "I mean, he's right, in one way. I'm not authorized to that information. Ideally nothing happens, and I won't need to know what's in there. Right above your head, actually, is the lab I'm interested in. I went and found the door on my way down here."

It was cool here, grounded and still, with the pressure of 51 stories balanced somewhat precariously on his head. Jim wondered if Superboy would be lightheaded the first time he walked above ground, without the weight of the building lurking above him.

It was time to go. Jim stood, stretched, offered hand to Jake. "What do you think? Nostalgia? Do I want something there, so I imagine it?"

Jake settled on his shoulder with a quiet trill, and didn't answer. He didn't know.

"Yeah. Me neither." Jim shut off the lights. "Sleep well, Superboy."


	11. A First Lie

Chapter warnings: psychic politics

Short chapter. Dubbilex tends to be terse when under pressure.

* * *

Six months ago, Dubbelix would not have thought it possible. The very suspicion made a mockery of everything he understood. Yet, more and more, he was beginning to think, to wonder, to _believe_, and he could not shake it.

Jake was up to something. Something he was hiding from Dubbelix.

Psychics should not be able to keep secrets. Dubbelix had linked to Jake upon the gnome's activation, their minds firmly entwined for the entirety of Jake's life. And yet Jake had somehow concealed this, locked in a box deep in the gnome's mind that Dubbelix could only barely sense, could not enter. Buried so cleverly that for an unknown time Dubbilex had not even noticed it.

A core, dense and simple. Dangerous and linked to firm, purposeful action. To Jim.

The first night Dubbelix recognized Jake's impenetrable box, his agitation kept the trolls by his pod awake with fretful spikes of psychic energy. He managed, after an hour, to control himself, bottling the turmoil within his own mind where it could not touch others.

G-gnomes did not _act_. They obeyed, listened, worked in tandem for the genomorph cause. Anything less than synchronization would doom every one of them. They would be deemed faulty, disobedient, _willful,_ and condemned to death or worse. The psychic linkages that bound them together, unbreakable, incorruptible, shared this truth among all genomorphs from the moment they opened their eyes. Jake _knew_ what he risked. And yet he chose to anyway.

Dubbelix had no doubt this was Jim's fault. No other source could have taught Jake willfulness, or deceit. Telepaths knew better than to deceive each other. Anything could be dragged forth, if an opponent possessed sufficient willingness to harm a mind. Secrets were merely asking for harsh treatment. Only from a human could Jake learn the necessity for such deep, disturbing concealment.

And yet, Dubbelix also knew that, much as Jim had damaged the genomorph cause in this way, he had not done so intentionally. Jim was unaware of so much he did, the ramifications of his thoughts and actions. Even Dubbelix himself had noticed slight alterations in himself that came from the man, and Jim could not know of it.

Removing Jake from Jim was out of the question. That would require Desmond's intervention, and Dubbelix would sacrifice many brothers before he let that man learn of his telepathy. Not to mention the difficulties: Jake had been linked to Jim's mind for so long he had far deeper access than even Dubbelix, an advantage they needed over the man that would take precious time to rebuild in a new gnome.

No, Jake must stay. And he likely knew that. Dubbelix grit his teeth.

He must discover the gnome's intentions. Jake's increased protein intake implied increased psychic input, a fair amount of it, yet there had been no reports of unusual activity in the genomorph grid. Thus, Jake was not interacting with another genomorph. The gnome's attention must lie elsewhere.

Dubbelix forced himself calm, letting the humming of his brothers' minds soothe him. He would uncover the root of Jake's plans. Then he would force the gnome to see the terrible error in his actions, the risk to his entire family he took in choosing to hiding his thoughts.

* * *

In the morning, Dubbilex ran his usual psychic check-ins with the genemorphs assigned to the important faculty; reports of actions, thoughts, worries, and any psychic corrections. Dubbelix was well practiced in suppressing unease from his brothers' perception; he could scarcely recall a day with nothing to concern him. None of them sensed his heightened tension.

Jake did not sense any difference in treatment. Dubbelix would not confront him until he had the upper hand, knew the details. For now, too much else hung over them for him to ignore the gnome's input.

Another seizure of sorts had rocked Jim's mind last night, Jake reported. Short; Jake had curtailed it as he could, but the pain had been disturbingly deep nonetheless. Even Dubbelix had to agree that these aches were increasing in frequency. Jake had dragged Jim to see Superboy before lunch today, as their compromise between Jim's mind and reality anchored on the boy's presence. As long as Jim reminded himself of Superboy's progress, he could endure Cadmus, and everything in it that was "wrong."

Dubbelix could sympathize, but little else. He hurried Jake through the rest. Nothing else, really. Jim still fretted about the lab on SL 51. Not consciously, and not logically, just that nagging itch that wouldn't leave the man alone. Poor Jim. Slight delusions plagued most humans, and Jim was particularly excusable, given the mess his mind was in to start with. Still, Dubbelix wished he would let it go. Jim did not remember, of course, but a grumpy Desmond had ordered him several months ago to avoid that floor entirely. The sooner Dubbelix and Jake could send the idea out of his head, the better.

Dubbilex directed Jake to report any changes, and turned his attention to more important things, like analyzing the data he'd picked up from Jim during contact. He was beginning to understand some of Jim's insistence on direct communication sometimes being preferable to three-part psychic relays. It was so difficult glimpse Jim through Jake without Jake knowing. But this was the key to deciphering Jake's actions.

Dubbelix was no fool. If no other genomorph sensed unusual psychic activity from their brother, this all had to center around Jim. He was the only person in the complex Jake had access to without regular interaction with another genomorph.

And yet…nothing. For a long time now Jim's mind had been Dubbelix's domain as much as Jake's. The gnome was perhaps closer, but, then, he had not broken the barriers Dubbelix had. Jim's tangles were well known to him, and try as he might, he could not find anything new.

The answer must be deeper down, if it were here at all. Dibbilex would have to weigh the threat before delving there, not wanting to harm Jim if he could avoid it.

One of the gnomes on the upper floors signaled, announcing another report arrived from Luthor. Immediately, Dubbelix reoriented his attention, dismissing men and gnomes and all their frustrations. Cadmus' director did not often send directions.

In the flurry of activity and exchanged thoughts, searching for some staffmember whose mind would reveal the report's contents, Dubbelix did not have time to tend the quieter hum that came from the lower floors. He told the gnome in question to hold for a brief time, and moved to the next staff member on receiving an affirmative.


	12. Eyes That Burn

Chapter warnings: violence, repercussions of violence, swearing

The other reason this story is rated T starts here.

* * *

"Sir, we have something from Floor 2."

Jim held up a hand and finished logging personnel assignments, watching them broadcast on the large lcd screen on the wall. "Beta squad, sublevel four, five minutes. The rest of you, schedules are up. We're on the clock today, people." Amid the chorus of "yes sir" he crossed to the control terminal. "What?"

"Another equipment transfer. Ten floors." Tanner flicked a window down to touchscreen to Jim. He turned it right-side up, scanning parameters. Five units, two trolls required, escort of four, scheduled for…

09:10. Twenty minutes from now.

Had Jim had a little less practice, his quiet hiss would have evolved into the curse it wanted to. The next time the VIPs decided half the upper levels should be reorganized, they should tell everyone _in advance_. Security officers weren't infinite, especially when some shifts reportedly couldn't use genomorphs because they apparently lacked the "organizational capacity" of humans.

Jim pressed his knuckles into his helmet. "Theta squad, any of you already prepped I need on Ground level 2. That goes for you, too Epsilon; I need four men. I'll give you a break before 10.00."

After the expected grumbling, directed-but-not-directed at him, Jim got his four, and that was all he had time to worry about. He'd buy them coffee later. "Danes, can you take Delta?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, you're on in thirty." Danes gave him a quick salute before heading out to clear the central halls. They'd already been at this since 5 AM, and there was a long day to go yet.

Jim had enough men, barely, for this. Projects couldn't cross paths and there were limited elevators, but he was used to that by now. It just took fanatic time management. Jim did not want to even see the poor people who'd had to schedule the actual moves, when just managing his troops took enough headaches. Still, they had it under control at the moment. As long as there weren't too many more surprise assignments, they might be able to make lunch break while still breathing.

Jake hummed, a short, curt sound and something in Jim's stomach clenched. No, there wasn't time for-

Tanner turned sharply to her screen. "What–? Sir, something from — the tech office?"

Jim waved her aside, brow furrowed as he scanned the report. Sent to him because of clearance issues, power failure in a lower lab starting one minute ago. The far half of SL51 had just dropped completely off the grid.

Wait. Sublevel 51. Oh no.

He'd half-keyed his passcode for the rest of the report when an incoming transmission interrupted him. Jim drew back in surprise as Desmond himself appeared in video-miniature on his screen. "Doc? You getting this, too?"

"I am heading down now. Continue your duties, Guardian. I will see to the malfunction."

Jake shifted, and Jim didn't blame him. "You're going down now…?"

Desmond scowled as if to show how threatening his teeth were. "_Yes_, Guardian. Now get back to work! I expect my equipment to move _on time_ today." The link went dead.

He should have followed orders and keyed out of the report. But Jake murmured and Jim nodded, "Yeah, buddy, me, too." Desmond had a shipment moving in fifteen minutes, and he'd demonstrated before he'd rather die than let anyone handle his projects unmonitored.

Tanner watched from where she'd pretended not to hear the exchange. "Beta's in position and requesting authorization, sir."

"Give it to them." Jim closed down the report, and strapped on his shield.

"Are you going with Theta?"

"No. Keep us on schedule. This shouldn't take long."

"Yes, sir."

The sea of people on the upper floors bustled and swept, but they parted for Jim. He made sure to take one of the small elevators so as not to hold up cargo transfers. Still, 50 odd floors, even in an express elevator, was a long way to overanalyze.

He was definitely in for a tongue-lashing when he found Desmond, but that was almost reassuring in the face of the other confusion. Up until a few minutes ago, Jim would've bet money that nothing, hell or high water, could pry Desmond away from his project at a time like this. Foreboding seemed to mount with the rising pressure of Cadmus overhead.

Worse, Jake rocked back and forth, agitated, and Jim did not know why. The gnome trilled softly as the elevator doors finally opened.

Sublevel 51 was dark. The emergency lights glowed in fitful red along the walls, the fluorescents grey and lifeless. Jim moved carefully into the maze of corridors, navigating half by memory, half by avoiding hallways functioning lights. He'd never seen a power outage in Cadmus, not in almost two years working here. It was eerie.

He heard the painful snapping sound before he reached the next corner. Combat instincts kicked in, crouching him by the wall to look before he moved.

The door to Lab M206I was torn clear of its hinges, wires bared and spitting jagged white sparks. The flashes lashed Desmond's lab coat painfully white, as the scientist bent over the mangled control panel,working furiously. Beyond the gaping hole in the doorway, Jim could make out glinting, shattered glass, a sea of red points ready to slash anyone who entered. The door was bent out of shape, hand marks gouged in its edges at the back. Whatever did this had been inside the lab.

Jake gave a sudden, soft cry, and Jim understood what had unnerved him since they'd left the elevator. It was silent. And, to Jake's mind, there wasn't just physical silence, but mental silence. The genomorphs who should have been here (and Jake knew they should be right here, _right here_) did not answer.

That, more than anything, sent dread burying into Jim's spine as he rushed forward. "Desmond…"

Another spark lit Desmond's glasses, making his face vacant and wild, cast in stark white and dark shadows. "What are you doing here, Guardian!?"

"We're leaving." Jim resisted the urge to turn around, search the shadows. He knew he couldn't see in them; better get out faster. Something lay on the ground in the lab, beyond that sea of glass, something small and grey and far too still, and he did not want to see it, to think about it. "Doc, it's not safe. Come on."

Desmond's jaw clenched, veins standing out of his neck, perspiration flashing on his face, and Jim realized with a jolt that the other man knew. Perhaps knew better than Jim. Desmond bared his teeth and jabbed desperately at the sputtering screen on the control panel. Hacking? Rewiring? How could anything be working after this destruction? The panel spat static and Desmond swore and hit another set of buttons. "If I don't get this system back up, Guardian, _none_ of us will be safe!"

Jim began to demand what had been _in_ there, when Jake screeched and dragged his attention to lights above their heads. Red lights. Red _eyes_.

"Doc!" Lasers. Jim dragged Desmond aside from _lasers_. Heat, the scent of burnt fabric flooding his nose as the cuff of his glove and the tails of Desmond's coat fizzed and blackened. Jim shoved Desmond behind him. "Run!"

The scientist, for once, didn't argue. Jim lunged to cover him, parrying two red beams off his shield. The far wall hissed and smoked as the attack carved twin furrows up to the ceiling. Heat crackled the air and bit at Jim's arm. Damn. His shield could only deflect so many of those.

Jake's humming filled his ears as Jim made out a figure hovering near the ceiling, silhouetted by the red lights. _Flying_. Its eyes glowed two searing points, as if the lasers had emitted from them—whoa!

Jim twisted and swore, barely shielding Jake in time. That shot had targeted the gnome, and Jake's terrified shriek deafened him as the beams made the shield hiss and glow. Twisting, Jim yanked switch on his palm and fired an energy blast back.

The flying thing darted aside, far too nimble in midair. Jim took the seconds to drop Jake and shove him after Desmond with a quick, _Run_. Fights were easier without carrying a civilian.

That was all the time he had. The thing was moving again, swooping closer. Jim made sure to land in its way. "Stop!"

His curt movement made the attacker hesitate, wary of the strike Jim threatened but hadn't quite thrown yet. "Steady, I don't want a fight." Seriously, anyone who'd just come from a Cadmus lab had a right to be a little off. And, really, no one liked Desmond. If he didn't have to fight this thing… "I know you're confused. Can you understand me?"

The attacker hovered above his head, still silhouetted by the lights, so Jim could only see glowing irises and heavy muscle-shapes. Heat in the air, the residue of lasers, sizzled on his skin, a threat if he ever felt one. He could practically feel the figure analyzing him.

Then it slowly descended, drawing closer to him, and into the light. Jim started. That face was too old, but this boy bore an S-shield on his chest, and for all the world looked like– "Superboy?"

Whatever he was supposed to say, it wasn't that. The boy's face contorted in a guttural roar, and when he lunged, he lunged_ fast_. Jim barely blocked the first swipe on his shield, and the impact reverberated all up his arm, _through_ his shoulder. What the heck was that kid's skin made of!?

Two years was just enough; he'd forgotten how much he hated fighting flyers. Without touching the ground, the boy pivoted and lashed out. Off balance, Jim ducked, splinters of the wall cut cracking off his helmet, shattered from a brand new crater.

He didn't have time to feel the pit of his stomach drop, dodging another strike. Superstrength. This kid had superstrength. He'd felt the entire wall shake.

Block, dodge, punch, one more – too slow! Fingers like steel rods caught Jim's arm, yanked. A flash of pain, and his feet lost the ground. Oh hell–! He raised his shield.

Jim's energy blast slammed point blank into the boy's face. Jim did not see it hit, though, the hand on his arm hurling him aside like a child's toy. One instant of midair dread – oh, _shit_! The next thing Jim knew something slamming into his back, with a dull, awful _crack_, and a muffled cry. The ground lurched upwards, and he found it with his hands, held on as the world shuddered back into place.

The boy shouted incomprehensible words and rubbed his eyes furiously, barely phased by the direct blast, but thankfully distracted.

Jim turned, but stopped as his shoulder screamed. Oh…that cracking sound, had been inside him. That'd curtail his left arm. No time for the rest. Desmond lay crumpled next to him. Out cold. Oh. Probably because of Jim's helmet.

The boy's eyes were blue now with black sclera, and fixed on Jim as he drifted into the air. Dammit.

_Jake, get over here. _Jim grabbed Desmond and fired up his comlink. "Tanner, set off the alarms on 51 now!"

No questions, thank god. He chose his lieutenant right. Blaring alarms shattered the air, drowning the corridor with piercing noise and slashes of white and red light. Green spots seared across Jim's eyes, but there was no time, he hauled Desmond onto his back.

The attacker crumpled in the air, hands pressed over his ears. Gamble won; he seemed to have sharp hearing. Jim lurched up, trying not to let Desmond's head loll dangerously, while firing another energy blast at the wall to topple several large chunks down on the distracted enemy.

A small, tight grip closed on Jim's other arm, and distinct points of pain wrenched his shoulder. Oh…_oh, _if that bone wasn't bruised or worse, Dubbelix would win a beauty pageant.

Jake hesitated, not wanting to hurt him, and Jim growled, standing with the gnome hanging painfully from his forearm. Desmond was deadweight, feet knocking against Jim's back as he ran. No time! That thing wouldn't be down for long.

The elevator was mercifully prompt, and only when its doors sealed behind him did Jim pause and listen to the frenzied buzzing in his ear.

"Sir? Sir, are you all right?"

He hadn't noticed how choppy his breathing was, or how his shoulder ached under Jake's weight. Dammit. "Tanner, evacuate everyone under level 40. Lock down everything beneath my current position. We've got a lab breach on 51." He took a moment to check Desmond. Breathing, at least, pulse steady, but nonresponsive. Hairline cracks riddled his glasses, lucky he hadn't sent a glass shard into his eye. "I need backup, and a medevac for Dr. Desmond."

She wanted to ask about him, but didn't. "Right away, sir."

Jim stiffened as a tremor ran through the elevator. "I will meet the g-patrol; it should be on level 46 about now. But if you read seismic activity on the higher levels, lock. them. down. Understand? Containing this thing has top priority."

"I'm ordering the squad to your location now, and sending backup from up here. But with evacuations, it may take some time to reach you–"

"I'll manage. Evacuations are priority. Guardian out."

Jake shifted uneasily, chittering, but froze when the movement stabbed needles of pain through Jim's shoulder. He ignored all of it, switched the com channel. "Dubbelix. Tell me what was in Lab M206I."


	13. I am Guardian

Chapter Warnings: _Serious_ violence and injury. This is the most violent chapter in the story. Also, x-ray vision = some body system details, so squeamish people be careful.

I honestly adore this chapter, though.

* * *

Dubbelix would admit he'd overreached himself today. It wasn't wholly his fault. Everyone in the complex seemed to be rushing, the VIP's sudden and unexplained demands leaving all in a frazzled hurry. It strained even his organizational skill to juggle the genomorph groups and still keep what tabs he could on the science team. He could only do so much before he had to let something slide, delegate some responsibilities. Whoever commissioned this location overhaul could not have been more ill-timed.

When Jake screamed, the sudden fear careening through the psychic link staggered Dubbilex. He heard the troll in front of him stumble, felt the flicker of terror, like a catching spark, gain strength through every mind it touched. Dubbelix dragged calmness he didn't feel over the others, forcing them to stay at work, not to drop their loads or miss their codes or let the humans see. They _couldn't_ afford such failures. Then and only then could he turn to sublevel 51. _Jake, what-!?_

But his only answer was a screech of red, primal fear, and the image of red-white-glowing lights meant to kill. The intent to destroy, rend, _murder,_ filled Dubbilex's mind until nausea and terror twisted in him. Something was trying to _kill_ Jake, red eyes whose hatred rolled in waves. What was going on? Where was Jim?

The second answer came in a crack of sound, white-splinter points of pain transmitted through Jake but not stemming from him. Dubbelix saw Jim hit the ground, saw Desmond lying senseless behind him. Jake cried out in a different fear then, as Jim struggled to catch his breath, and the hateful presence swooped dangerously in the air.

Jake looked up at it, and Dubbelix froze. Match's entire body tensed with wild anger, and his eyes were fixed on Jim, his mind reverberating with half-words and jagged edges, and _hate_.

Dubbelix's next thought sliced through the hubbub of the genomorphs to Achilles, the patrol on the higher floor. They ran towards the lifts as soon as they felt through Dubbilex how much _danger_ Jim and Desmond were in. Nothing could stop Match, no reasoning, no words, no logic, and Dubbelix knew of no strength. He would fight and fight, and he would kill, until he was spent.

As Dubbilex tried to assure Jake help was coming, a sudden cacophony of sound and light forked between them, making them both wince. Then Jim was running, and Match reeling back from the toppling walls, and Dubbelix could not hold on to one mind over the noise of the others. Genomorphs from all the floors began reporting hurried activity, orders for evacuation. Everyone was moving, the security personnel scrambling to organize an already chaotic situation. The genemorphs huddled in confusion, needed his guidance; the humans could not direct them efficiently enough. There suddenly was no time.

Dubbelix was tugged from the tangled psychic lanes by a curt tone in his pocket. He only carried one comlink, had never used it. He fumbled drawing it out.

Jim's voice was ragged at the edges, but his tone was deceptively calm. "Dubbelix. Tell me what was in Lab M206I."

Dubbelix had known Jim called his bluff the moment the man chose not to confront him. Yet, still, something different came in hearing the bluntness of Jim's grim surety. How little accusation he found there surprised Dubbilex.

"Jim."

"Dubbelix, _now_." Jim growled. Dubbelix felt as much as heard it. He had a curious double vision, hearing Jim while simultaneously tethered to the man's mind. Jim was angry, but not at Dubbilex's concealment. Instead, it infuriated him that Dubbelix's hesitation put lives at risk. Desmond was unconscious, Jake trembling. Jim knew little, but intuited much of the magnitude of their situation. Dubbelix realized with a start that it physically pained Jim to carry Desmond, who was not a heavy man. Match had already harmed him.

Dubbelix could sense Match's mind, his searching, ranging. More disturbingly, the g-goblin sensed the emptiness where Match's gnomes should be. He had killed them. They were dead. Everyone in the complex was in grave danger.

"It is a weapon called Match."

Jim hissed through his teeth, moved Desmond away from the painful points on his back. He did not dare put him down, as other tremors rocked the elevator. "It flies. Laser vision. What else can it do?"

Jim had to meet the patrol on floor 40. Get off whenever the elevator became unsafe (it would soon. Too soon. Dubbelix's fingers curled like claws. Faster, he urged the patrol, faster). "I don't-"

Jim's mind was too calm. Pain, danger, adrenaline, everything within him had leveled to a narrow point. Two objectives: Desmond and Jake. "Dubbelix, focus. I need everything you have. Weaknesses, abilities, profile. Anything."

Had Dubbelix known weaknesses, he'd have given them then. Brother or no. But he didn't even know the extent of Match's capabilities. Only snippets, thoughts, theories gleaned from Desmond's mind. "Enhanced durability. Perhaps invulnerable. Self-propulsion. Laser vision. Resistance to temperature extremes. Nothing more I know. It is untrained, angry." Dubbelix winced at a shuddering message from Jake, dropping his work to sprint towards the nearest lift. "Jim, stay away from it. It is mentally unstable. It killed the gnomes assigned to it!"

"I know." Dubbelix caught the flicker of a small, still body across a sea of brutally shattered glass, and felt nausea. Jim had no time for sorrow, and so only felt a moment's for that snuffed out life. "How do I stop him?"

The alarms still blared on the lower floors, a thousand heartbeats rushing up above, and Dubbelix could only feel Match's, thrumming with adrenaline and hate. Certainty settled uncomfortably in Dubbelix's chest. Jim was running now, but escape was not his object. He would send Desmond to safety, Jake if he could (Jake wouldn't go), and then he would stop and fight. It was his job. His purpose. Simple, clear. Protect. Guardian.

Match would _kill_ him. And Jim knew that, too.

So Dubbelix did not say 'You can't.' "It has humanoid anatomy. Lungs. Heartbeat. It requires breath. Likely susceptible to high voltage electric shock." He could feel Jim strategizing, brainstorming best and worst case scenarios. "Jim…support is on its way. Factor that into your plans."

Jim nodded without thinking on it long. "They'll need you to evacuate the genomorphs. My staff can't manage it. You get everyone clear."

"Already underway. Do not–"

The entire elevator lurched, throwing Jim into the wall. He grimaced, holding on for balance as the motion dug Desmond into his back. Jake gave a low shriek, and Dubbelix felt it too. Match had found this elevator shaft.

Jim did not sense this telepathically, but with some more tenuous awareness. He slammed the door-open button and held on as the elevator jerked to a stop. The doors unlatched with dragging slowness, and Jim was out too fast, bumping Desmond's head on the edge. "If you can get that patrol down any faster, Dubbelix, it'd be great. Wait, hold on." He switched lines, but Dubbelix still heard through Jake's ears. "Tanner, I'm on 45."

Metallic groaning echoed dully through the floor as the lower levels locked down, closing layers of steel and mechanics over Match. It wouldn't be enough. A distant roar of frustration reverberated in Jake's ears, and Dubbilex hoped Jim could not hear it. The g-goblin urged the patrol faster, updating Jim's position, sending the elves running ahead.

Something, either nervousness or simple faith, brought Jim back to Dubbelix's comm channel. "We've locked down 46 to 50. That won't hold him long."

"No." No point lying. No time. "There is an access staircase that will take you directly to floor 41. I will guide Jake."

Jim was surprised, but did not ask about other secret passages. "Have them meet me there." He ran at a steady, swift pace, ignoring the discomforts of Jake on his shoulder, Desmond on his back. He counted Desmond's breaths, and the groans of the metal below them.

The stairs turned in endless square spirals. Dubbelix had often used them, knew where the edges had bent, which steps creaked. He slid this knowledge into Jim, so the man neither tripped or clattered as he ran.

It made little difference. Far below, Match could hear the footsteps rumbling above his head. Dubbilex dared not touch the deranged weapon's mind deeper, remembering what that madness could do. He could not risk incapacitation, even for a moment. Their best hope was that Match could only the entire complex dashing in evacuation, unable to locate Jim. Dubbelix sprinted through the mid levels, past waves of evacuating genomorphs and personnel. If he could reach SL 45, or even 46, he could maybe slow Match without anyone realizing his psychic abilities. Failing that, at least he could try–

"Achilles! Am I glad to see you." Jim had barely opened the door on 41 when the g-elf careened around the corner, teeth parted to track Jim's scent. Only the sight of Desmond on Jim's back stopped Achilles from launching himself up onto Jim's arm in greeting. Jim spared a smile, catching his breath. "The others?"

Farther behind, Dubbelix could sense the rest of the patrol. It would take precious minutes for the full squad to catch the elves. Jim understood some part of this from Achilles' growling sounds, as two more elves rounded the corner, tails whipping and bodies bristling. They milled around him worriedly as he shrugged Desmond from his shoulders. "Come here."

Elves were not meant to carry humans, but Achilles and one of the others stepped beneath the unconscious scientist, taking his weight in their arms. Achilles rose onto his back legs, protectively curling his claws around Desmond's shoulders.

Jim nodded. "Get him to a troll, then get out of here." The elves hummed nervously, but Jim waved them off. "_Go._ Desmond is your priority. I'm counting on you."

Achilles did not want to, but he took the mission, carrying most of Desmond's weight as he and the other elf hurried away. The third elf hovered, uncertain. Jim drew a deep breath. His back hurt, and he listened for the periodic metallic shriek of another lockdown door breaking. He reached up and caught Jake around the waist, sighing at the lessened pressure on his shoulder. "Jake, your turn."

But he drew back when Jake kicked and _bit_, tiny, sharp teeth attesting his shared genetics with the g-elves. Jim glared at his companion, and did not speak. Yet Dubbelix heard him all the same, louder in Jake's mind. _Do you _want_ to die? _An angry mass of worry and "protect" and commander – fight, strategize, defend – bore down on Jake.

The gnome did not even blink. _No_. In Jim's voice, a strange echo. Then, _Guardian._

"I am Guardian."

_I am Guardian_.

"Jake, there isn't time! I need you away before—" The entire floor lurched wildly, throwing Jim a step away from the elf. "You have to go, now!"

Up above, Dubbelix hissed, shoving a group of trolls out of his way. He was still tens of floors too high to reach them.

Jake growled, high pitched, desperate, and dug his nails into Jim's shoulder, not even falter when the movement caused Jim pain. _No!_

The nearby sound of sheering, sparking metal left Jim with no attention for Jake. He waved the elf away. "Make sure Dr. Desmond gets into the lift safely." Turning the other way, Jim ran towards the crashing sounds. "Tanner, tell me Desmond's up safe."

"Not yet. Sir, seismic readings are off the charts down there. Are you all right?"

"At the moment. The rest of the patrol?"

"Same floor. There are two trolls, you just have to wait for them to catch up with you."

"I don't think trolls are going to do much if it's tearing steel. What floor is it on?"

"By the readings...43."

"Not any more. Get anyone you can on this. Find who has clearance. Tell me how to stop it. Dubbelix says electricity or oxygen deprivation. Some sort of gas weapon, maybe. I'll stall."

"I'm sending backup down now. Sir, be careful."

"As soon as Desmond is safe, lock down these levels. Whatever happens, it can't get out into the upper floors before evacuations finish."

"It won't come to that."

"Just tell me when Desmond is secure. Guardian out."

The building held strangely still and silent. Jim paused, listening for the creak of metal. To Dubbilex up on SL 33, surrounded by panicked evacuating staff and the psychic hubbub of frightened genomorphs, the stillness on Jim's level felt unnerving, unnatural. Match was still hunting, still ripping and tearing. That twisted wrongness in the clone's mind was boiling, somehow tied to the concept of "super," and hearing Jim speak that word had set Match's entire mind on fire. Every time Match heard Jim's voice he honed closer.

Jim knew, somehow. He was the first who'd attacked him, after all. He posited (hoped? Even Jim was not suicidal, but he was steadfast) speaking would buy the others time. "Dubbelix, what's wrong with him?"

Dubbelix tried to conceal his hurried breathing without knowing why "Something in Match went wrong. His mind is twisted."

Jim kept running, but something inside him stilled. He thought of the dead little creature on the ground in the lab. "Gnomes…can do that?" _They can get it wrong?_

Dubbilex had no time to lie. Jake held silent, hoping if he did not speak Jim would not leave him (Dubbelix would not put it past the man had he more time to think). Dubbelix grit his teeth, seeing the jagged gaps he and Jake had carved in Jim's mind. "Yes."

The dead gnome remained still and cold in Jim's thoughts as he listened for the signal of Desmond's safe ascension. He knew without Dubbilex telling that Match could not see reason.

When notification came, Tanner sounded relieved. "Desmond's clear! Head to the south lift, I have a second patrol with suppression gear on their way down. They're on SL 30!" She paused a moment, listening to a report off-mike. "Sir, I think it's chasing after you…drag it out a bit longer and we'll take it dow—"

One corner of the wall exploded inwards. Jim dove to avoid shrapnel, shrieking pieces gouging the floor like bullets. Match floated into the hall, fists clenched, solar suit frayed and tattered, as a g-troll thundered around the far corner. Sighting the intruder, the troll bellowed a challenge and charged.

Devoid of fear even of so massive creature he had never seen, Match returned the troll's roar, surging forward as his eyes lit red. Jim realized the weapon's intent faster than anyone else. "Watch out!"

Lasers seared through the air, blinding all who did not shield their eyes. The troll dodged the brunt of the blast, but melted slag from the wall splattered onto its thick grey skin with an awful roasting sound. Jake screamed, and Dubbilex was unsure if he did, as well. The troll howled deep in its throat, head reared back, and that gave Match the opening he needed to ram forward his fists. The blow knocked the troll into the air, and Match seized its foot, pivoting the massive body in a full circle before hurling the poor creature through two walls. When it finally settled, it lay still amid hissing runoff from several shattered lab tanks.

Humans did not feel pain as genomorphs did, connected to each other's minds and bodies. The troll was still alive, in pain, its central bone structure bent out of line, skin burned by metal slowly cooling and solidifying across its neck and face. It keened, and both Dubbilex and Jake rushed to pull it into unconsciousness, before it brought greater pain upon itself. Dubbilex was dimly aware of his hands _shaking_.

Match waited to see if his opponent moved again. When it did not, he rotated in the air to regard Jim.

The man had seen Match overpower a g-troll, more than ten times his own strength. Yet nothing in him faltered. "Tanner, it's here." Jim spoke softly, voice carefully level. "Lock down up till 31."

"We don't have to-"

"_Now._ Whatever backup's here, it'll have to be enough. Set up a third line upstairs, you stop it if it comes up. This does not get to the street."

"…Roger that."

Match hovered through this exchange, listening with interest. His eyes moved slowly from Jim, to Jake, then back to Jim again, seeking the source of Tanner's voice. He narrowed his eyes, and Dubbelix _felt_ his vision shift, saw him look through skin and bone until he found the comlink in Jim's ear. Match watched blood in veins, the steady, fast heartbeat, lungs contracting and expanding. He saw a collection of layers, just like this building he was peeling back floor by floor.

Jim listened for the other troll. He didn't want to watch that again. "I'm not going to let you keep going."

Match understood speech. His lip curled in a scowl. Again, his eyes moved, this time to Jake. He picked a point in Jake's brain at random, pondering lobotomizing the gnome right then. Match had stopped the voices in his head that way last time, and reasoned if he did so to this man it might incapacitate him, given how difficult it had been for Match himself to adjust to the wide silence after he'd killed the small, awful creatures.

Before Dubbelix could finish his own warning, Match shifted to avoid an energy blast past his ear, attention back on Jim, who scowled ferociously. "Pay attention. You don't get to mess with him until you're done with me."

Jake protested, but Dubbelix pushed him back, warning him. One gnome alone _could not_ subdue Match. He had broken free not through telepathy, but through jagged madness, weakening the minds that held him until he gained will sufficient to kill. Now he had few aims save continued freedom and to kill again. To reach closely enough to stop him required meshing with his mind, and Dubbelix knew the harm of that. If that got to the genomorph network, they would _all_ die.

But _Jim_, Jake protested–GAH!

Match lunged, and Jim threw Jake off his shoulder. The movement cost him the first strike, no time to counter the foe barreling down on him.

To Dubbelix's astonishment, Jim evaded the strike, as if unfazed by steel-crushing strength. Jim's mind was clear still, precise, focused. He couldn't win in terms of strength. He didn't have to. If he lasted until backup arrived, there was some hope of subduing this maniac. If not, well, Jim would buy them time upstairs.

Here, Dubbelix beheld the difference between taught, and _trained_. Match could strike, knew his body's power and instinctively how to use it to harm. But Jim knew fighting, what he could do and couldn't, and what his enemy could even hovering in midair. He dodged, he blocked, he bent Match's momentum against him with almost a little thought as Dubbelix bent minds.

But Jim's training countered someone he could block, not Match. Each impact's reverberations lanced up Jim's arms, forcing him to brace with both hands as the injured bones in his shoulder ground against each other. A fraction of Match's strength knocked him back. Jim used that to his advantage, ducking Match's next strike and rolling. He felt but hardly register pain in his shoulder, recognized only the hindrance, curtailing use of his shield arm.

He could still reach the trigger.

Match brushed off the blast with a roar, swiping for the man as he rolled out of range again. The paltry blows Jim landed goaded him, even if they'd damaged Jim more. Untried and inexperienced, Match still knew Jim would not stop unless made to. Frustration simmered over him to have taken so long.

His next strike was faster, and Jim only partially deflected it. The graze barely connect across his ribs, but Jim's stance buckled, unable to absorb the blow. Match pressed his advantage, fingers gouging a handhold in Jim's chestplate. With easy, lazy strength, he dragged the man off the ground and threw him.

Jim slammed into the wall with an sharp choking sound. Dubbilex heard more than felt Jim's shoulder blade snap, but felt enough to cringe: sudden jagged edges stabbed forward, driven by the wall. Jim hit the ground pain-blind, throat closed, struggling to weather the sudden bone dagger in his back.

Match drifted closer, listening with interest. He'd never heard a human suffer before.

Dubbilex was still trying to stay upright, past Jake's screeching and the mess of agony in Jim. Match was too close, and Jim was not _moving_, shuddering on the floor as his world greyed out. If he did not master this now, he would lose consciousness, body shut down by the shock. He would die!

_Breathe!_ Dubbelix forced the motion into him, feeling dark relief at Jim's shock of pain as he reflexively obeyed.

_Stop it! _Jim coughed, already dragging his body up on his good arm. Astonished, Dubbelix realized he must have sent that command with voice, and Jim _heard_ him. And…and Jim had remained conscious. There was a wall in his mind, not psychic but built of will, which he had reached, and stopped. Held. Something related to focus, and purpose, and need. The pain in his back, the air to thin and slow in his lungs, all of it sizzled beyond that wall, unable to catch him. Jim did not need Dubbelix's help to stand again.

Jim ground his teeth, glaring past the white spots to find Match. He could not feel his left hand, and his shoulder useless. The shield's weight dragged unbearably, but he had other priorities. He _recognized _Dubbelix's presence, and he did not even ask.

Match scowled to see him rise again, but the weapon could smell the salt of blood in the air Jim breathed. He knew the man was damaged, and could not fight much longer. This, at least, pleased him.

Jim saw the weapon analyzing, but did not antagonize him. He still had the comlink in his ear. "Dubbelix." He did not need to speak, but he did anyway, each syllable a bite of pain. "If I black out…don't let me…"

Jim believed Dubbelix could do that, recognized when the g-elf forced breath into him before. Dubbelix had no choice but to believe so as well. He had never used a mind to force a body past its limits. But even in pain Jim thought in calm objectives, steadying the panic in Dubbilex without even trying.

This wasn't about winning. Thus, it did not matter that he could not win. He did not need to.

Dubbelix was _flying_, hurling lockdown doors out of his way, their banging closed behind him echoing in his bones like phantom pains. But he knew he would not be reach them for precious minutes. Jim was waiting, breathing unsteadily, standing. He…he had to give him something. "Jim. I will."

He was out of contingencies. He could not risk frontal assault on Match's mind. If Match's condition were contagious (Jim's psyche was), such a risk could permanently taint the future of not just Dubbelix, but every genemorph. He could not _risk _that.

Match's eyes were dark, black and empty, and felt as if they looked at Dubbilex as the weapon chose a target on Jim's body. Something akin to focus crystalized in his mind, something twisted that Jim would never have created, and Dubbelix felt it, tense and coiled and linked to a sea of glass and death. It, he knew without needing to ask how, was wrong. Deadly. Final.

Match moved, and a sound twisted out of Dubbilex that he could not recognize.

Match was fast. Jim barely had time for deadly certainty: there was no dodging this. He raised his shield to meet Match's fist. Then the wall behind and his shield in front ripped the air from his lungs. The wall cracked, Jim choked past suddenly broken ribs, recoiling from a source of pain inside him. Match caught Jim's neck then, and slammed him to the ground.

In that moment, Dubbelix lost Jim. Nothing. A blank.

Dubbelix did not panic. No. He did not. He knew Jim better. He didn't panic, because Jim was stubborn. Focused. Jim did not need him to stand up. _Jim! Jim, wake _up!

Then, dimly, pain answered him. Close, tight, suffocating pain. Jim opened an eye. He saw before he could think or move, before he felt anything but bone in his chest. He lay on the cracked tiles, and shuddered, and could not breathe. Dubbelix had never felt him so weak. _Jim!_

Jim didn't hear. The part of him Dubbelix could touch was stifled and still, too buried and stunned to process. He breathed anyway, shifting a xylophone of daggers in his chest. The pain roiled, thick and dark and choking him until he had to breathe again, to change where it hurt. The next bit of him to surface was simple. Clear. Focused.

Match.

Match cocked his head curiously, watching blood specks dot the ground by Jim's mouth and nose. He'd been smelling it on Jim's breath, but never seen it before. Match could look down through snapped bones and altered blood flow, enough to know Jim's body was having trouble functioning, unlikely to fight again. The weapon would turn to Jake soon. But, for now, unthreatened and unhurried, he crouched and quizzically smudged a blood drop with his thumb.

Jim saw him. Movement was like sliding a sharp comb beneath his sternum, up into his lungs, but Jim found the strength to grab Match's arm. He couldn't move further, could barely hold on. But it didn't matter. Focus. Guard. Match's attention was on him now.

Match glowered, pulling his arm free easily. Jim sluggishly tried again. Annoyed, Match batted his hand down, holding it still with a grip an elephant couldn't have moved. Squinting at the eye-hole in Jim's helmet, the weapon looked down through skin and flesh and skull until he found the artery he wanted. Dubbelix could _see _it. Match could just break Jim's neck, but in the depths of his Cadmus programming Match had learned to be efficient. No need to exert extra effort. Burning down through the brain would do just as well.

Jim didn't feel afraid. He had to keep his eyes open, stay conscious on those blood specked tiles. A whole world of dark and pain and quiet waited beyond them, Dubbelix couldn't hold it at bay, and if Jim didn't keep himself back, he'd fall over the edge. Lose Match's interest, cease to be a threat.

Dubbilex snarled. The fool! He should not have seized the weapon's attention! He would _die!_ Jim was not mad! He was not suicidal! He did not _want_ to die!

Match pressed down until Jim's arm was numb, until the bones groaned. And Dubbelix could see it, hear it, _feel it, _ but he could not _stop_ it. Match's eyes glowed red, hissing with heat.

But the lasers did not fire. The weapon clutched his head with a scream, because Jake was _roaring, _filling the psychic link with sound and pain and jagged claws grating on Match's mind. The gnome's horns glowed brighter than Match's eyes, and his little body shook with rage, his mind a wild, ruthless thing.

Jake did not link with Match. He mauled him. Like a hunting creature, the gnome struck and slashed, until the weapon's back arched with agony, eyes red and wide and terrified, fingers gouging into his skull.

_Jake!_ The gnome did not answer at first, but Dubbelix persisted, pushing through a haze of hatred (where had Jake learned hatred!?). Stopping Match was right, but this was _not!_ Jake could obliterate him, shred Match's mind until he was no longer a consciousness. And in that moment of fierce protect-guard-rage, Dubbelix found Jake's _wanted_ to.

No! Match, no matter who he'd hurt, no matter his risk, was a brother, and you did _not_ do that to your brothers!

For a moment, Jake held out, and made Match scream. But then, not from Dubbelix, but from Jim came a slow, pain-drunk objection. Match's screams frightened Jim as little did. Jim knew, on some level Dubbilex would never understand, that Jake did this. And Jim, with that strange, outside understanding that came from the world, knew it for what it was. Because it wasn't subduing.

Wrong. Jim knew that, like he knew his name, like he knew his purpose, his failings and the things that he could not let happen. _J-Jake, no…_

Jake gave a little, desperate snarl, wild with grief and hate. But then he changed. Match trembled, body rigid, but his screaming stopped. And Dubbelix looked on in wonder, because Jake still did not link with the weapon's mind. Instead, the gnome turned his psychic claws into walls, and forced these around Match's mind, closer and closer, edges reaching for each other.

A box. He was trapping Match, his madness and his viciousness and everything that let him hurt those around him, in a box. Behind those psychic walls, the darkness in Match's mind that had attacked Dubbelix could not reach Jake.

Dubbelix recognized those walls.

Match did not, but he had been trapped too long not to leap from sensation to understanding. He panicked, lashed out against the power confining him. Match was no more psychic than Jim, but he was strong and desperate and _insane_,and he _would not be held._

He struggled until his mind tore, and Match feared nothing, not cracks or splinters or madness. He was jagged and misaligned already, it could not harm him more, so he did not stop. No psychic was prepared for that, for a mind that maimed itself in defense. Jake's hold slipped.

Seizing that gap, Match lashed out with his eyes before Jake could re-establish control. Dubbelix stumbled, Jake's cry in his throat as he felt lasers sear at skin that wasn't his, concentration completely shattered. He felt Jim choke, Jake reeling, and everything was a mess of pain and wrenching fear. Dubbelix could not even tell who's suffering usurped his senses until Match struck and Jake was too slow to evade it (gnomes weren't meant for combat. They weren't meant for _movement_).

Jake hit the wall. Bone cracked, again, and Dubbelix knew that sound now. He had to block what he could from his mind as Jake curled on the ground, agony flaring in Dubbelix's leg as if he were the one who had crumpled down. And Jim was drifting too far, barely clinging to consciousness. Jake was tied so deep that the bleed-off carved a raw, jagged hole in the willpower holding him. The knives in him rippled, and pushed him down, and he couldn't call for Jake because he couldn't breathe.

But Jake was awake, still, and in an eerie echo of his companion, some part of his mind remained clear. Focused. And that part took a bright core of purpose, guardian, knowledge, and pressed it into Dubbelix.

_I…figured it out_.

Jim's voice. Jake's thought. And Dubbelix saw what he needed to do. He stopped running.

Match shook his head violently, as if to knock free the gnome's influence. He was listening again, hearing Jake's little gasps and the thick choking in Jim's throat. He despised both sounds. The gnome was hateful to him, a creature he would kill in spite, and Jim's interest had long faded. Wipe them clean, obliterate them.

Dubbelix let his horns ignite, reaching out of his body until he barely felt it.

You will not.

Jake's mind held very still, because if he faltered he'd slip loose (gnomes were not meant to feel pain, had no durability to it). But Jim shook, struggling to move, to protect, with that same useless, futile need that always drove him. In the dark, Jim groped past knives and blood and his own body, finding no strength but _knowing_ how close he was, and suffering for it. The fool would not stop.

Could not stop. Guard. Protect. All he had. Flashes of lucidity that Dubbilex could catch, like a heartbeat. He could hold onto that.

He settled around Jim like a safety net. Jim could not speak, thoughts scattered, but Dubbelix could. _It will be all right. (I have you. Jim? Jim…)_

_You won't kill them, brother._

Match tensed, searching for a new enemy. Dubbilex watched him with detached pity. Unlike Jake, the g-goblin's judgment was not clouded. Match was a brother, and a strong one. One way or another, they would find a way for him to serve the genomorph cause.

But that did not change the fact he slaughtered his own kin. And Dubbilex was not above anger. As the weapon bristled, recognizing telepathy, Dubbelix channeled Jake's thoughts with his own, and forced them into the weapon, slid through Jake's crumbling fortifications.

_You will not harm [him] them again._

Match snarled, struggled, unsure how to fight an enemy he could not see. But he had no chance, madness or no. Not anymore.

Jake hissed, sharp, quiet satisfaction. Dubbelix finished the box with one sharp thrust, before Match could reel back in surprise.

The weapon slumped down to his knees, eyes wide and vacant and still, trapped inside his own mind, and Dubbelix could hold him, contain him. Long enough for other gnomes to take over. Long enough to listen to the corridor filled with the harsh, thudding heartbeats of a man who couldn't breathe, and the gnome he was calling for who couldn't move.


	14. Paid in Bones

Chapter warnings: Aftermath of previous, so...descriptions of rather severe injuries, moral ambiguity, Cadmus medicine. Basically Cadmus.

* * *

As soon as other gnomes took over imprisoning Match, Dubbelix broke into a run. _Jake, do not sleep!_

Gnomes had difficulty understanding localized pain. So much of their minds were tied in psychic links that when they took physical harm, they sometimes shut down at the stimuli. But Jake could understand it, knew what had happened. He held onto Dubbilex, staying conscious. He'd felt pain like this in Jim's memories before. He knew, in these last horrible minutes, the difference between a complex broken bone and a clean one, the shoulder-bone-teeth still biting deep into Jim's back and the blade-edge pain through his leg. He knew he could not stand.

Hazily, Jake answered Dubbelix with only one word. _…Jim._ Jake could hear Jim trying to call, choking, but could not answer. He knew, tangled up as they were, opening a psychic path would hurt Jim more than help, let him feel more than he could bear.

But Jim did not know that, half-drunk on the pain of his ribs, and unable to hear Jake breathe over the rushing in his ears. He would panic soon, and Jake could not ignore that, could not help feeling it. He swallowed. _Jim..._

_I will tend to Jim._ Psychics did not lie to each other. Jake knew that Dubbelix did not know what he could do, only that he would try.

Achilles suddenly surged up at Dubbilex's heels with the remainder of his patrol, which set Dubbilex's mind tumbling back into contingencies, because they _needed_ them now. Scientists darted about higher up, their lab coats still white in his mind. Cadmus had protocols, they would follow them. Dubbelix did not know the meaning of the sharp ache in Jake's leg, but he knew what it meant when a genomorph could not walk. Deactivation.

Jake acknowledged that calmly. He was unafraid, or would be if Jim was safe. He started the careful folding of mind that all gnomes learned for when they died, pulling back link by link so the cessation would not hurt the network.

But then Jim called again, desperate, pleading, and Jake stopped, filled with sudden, sharp grief. Because Jim was calling his name, his _name_, and did not want him to die, did not want him to be hurt, did not want to be unable to protect him.

Because Jim had failed before and it had _hurt_. Like it hurt now, daggers and broken things and _I couldn't _get_ to him!_ And more than anything, Jake did not want Jim hurt.

Dubbilex heard the upstairs g-gnomes' signal that the security cameras were looped. That gave them mere minutes to move.

_No. You are not finished yet, Jake._ Dubbelix finally arrived physically on the scene with the patrol, g-elves fanning out in shivering formations. Achilles snarled at Match, though he knew that the weapon could not move. But Dubbelix stood still, looking at Jake. It was not his brother's choice to make, it was his.

Jake paused, confused. Dubbelix answered with a mass of need and knowledge, and things he still must learn. Those walls. He had used Jake's, but he must learn to make them. However Jake had learned, Dubbelix needed him to teach him. To build new things in his mind, cities or weapons or security forces. For the cause.

Jake blinked. Dubbelix overrode his next objection. Psychics did not lie to each other. Jake had already embedded the knowledge of his walls in Dubbelix's head, lodged in that tight bundle of memory and discovery for him to unwind later. He did not need Jake for that. But for now, he would not explain any further.

Jake had still done something, put something in his own little box with those walls, and if he died now, Dubbelix would never know what it was.

They shared a short, brief understanding of what Jake's survival cost, though, and Jake flinched. _Jim._

_You'll still reach him. He just will no longer know._

An empty consolation, but Dubbelix had no time to offer more. The cameras would only cut out for a little longer. He gestured curtly to Achilles, putting obligations and directives into the elf's mind. The g-elf scooped Jake up as gently as he could, but could not avoid jostling his broken leg. The gnome hissed, a sharp whistle between his teeth.

Jim twitched.

Dubbelix rushed to catch Jim's consciousness before he fell, leaving one last thought to Jake. _Don't let go of him yet. He's too weak. You'll have to do that later._

Like Jake wanted to let go in the first place. They'd have that argument, but not when it felt like Jim was trickling through Dubbelix's fingers like blood. Adrenaline spike was failing now, and the ebb hit the man too hard. Not good, too far, too fast. _Jim…_

As Achilles took Jake to safety, far from the scientists who would decommission him, Dubbilex stood still, far enough away that no arriving scientist would suspect him. Psychically, he approached Jim's flagging consciousness as one would to a timid creature. _Jim. Can you hear me?_

Jim was still and trembling, mind almost empty. The last attempt dragged from him by Jake's voice left him teetering on the edge, utterly exhausted, barely breathing past the mess of bones splintered where his lungs should go. The pain was a blue, consuming thing, and he knew it had him, knew he could not get up again. But Jim was nothing if not stubborn.

Dubbelix delved down until he found his mind. _Jim._

_J…Jake. _ Jim tried to move again.

Dubbelix would have hissed if he hadn't worried about observers. The cameras were likely on by now. He sank his influence into Jim, trying to calm him before he killed himself. _Be still._

_Jake!_ That dauntless mass of protect and fear and sorrow in Jim masked everything. Dubbelix could not let him keep it. It had kept Jim conscious this long, but it was also grinding his broken ribs together, tearing his insides.

Dubbelix leaned in one more time. _It will be all right. Let go._

_ Nn…n_. No.

In the midst of an entire building's shock, hearing the hum of his gnome-brothers as they held Match's psychic prison, Dubbelix froze. Because Jim accepted his influence implicitly, without question. He couldn't even breathe, let alone protect his mind. But the impulse to accept, to obey, hit something in the depths of his mind and stopped. A barrier.

Jim did not let go. Letting go was wrong. Contradicted what he was. What he needed to be. Guard. Protect. Save. Hero. _Jake._ And his subconscious struggled.

Dubbelix's eyes flew open. Impossible! Jim _couldn't_ struggle. Dubbelix had done that to him _himself_, years ago.

Alerts flickered from incoming gnomes, and Dubbelix lurched back, hurrying to feign nonchalance as a mess of g-elves, security officers, and medical personnel streamed onto the scene. Danes, armored for a fight, held his men back, anticipating another attack. "Dubbilex? Dubbilex, are you all right?"

Dubbelix stepped forward to meet him. "The weapon is subdued. The threat has passed."

Danes didn't look convinced, but he gestured a team of scientists forward. They swiftly produced a tank and gas mask, which they fastened over Match's face. After scanning their minds for plots of poison, Dubbilex had the gnomes inhale the sedative into Match's lungs.

Danes only briefly watched the weapon slump, attention instead riveted on a lab-coated man marked with white and blue symbols who crouched by Jim, speaking in hushed, soothing tones. Jim shook his head, fists clenching as he tried to move. The corners of his mouth winked red.

Dubbelix reached out to try to calm him a second time, but before he could the doctor put a firm hand on the back of Jim's neck, and leaned close. "Guardian. Your watch is over. Enough."

Empty words, gibberish to Dubbelix's ears. But he felt them catch inside Jim's mind and forcibly turn. The g-goblin started in alarm as Jim lurched into unconsciousness, every thought snuffed out of his mind like a gasp. Still. Empty. More than calm, more than peace, just blankness; a chalkboard erased. Jim lay on the ground, perfectly still, and breathed. He did not register the pain as the doctor poked and prodding his chest, making fractured ribs creak and bend in directions that made Dubbelix shudder. Even when the bone-shoulder-knives in his back shifted, Jim did not stir, breathing thickly, heavily, but without fighting.

In. Out. As if it did not choke him to do so.

But blood still dribbled from his mouth in a slow, slick trail, especially when the doctor pressed fingers against his shoulder. If Jim had been awake, he must have screamed. It turned Dubbilex's stomach the way the joint crackled when moved, the dull sound of torn and battered flesh. It was almost eerier, to feel Jim's lungs wet with blood, and know he did not feel it himself.

But the doctor's mind held no uneasiness. Humans did not treat each other as they did genomorphs. And he clearly knew how to put Jim in a state beyond pain, queer as that state seemed. That had to sate Dubbilex for now. He would investigate deeper later on. Now…he found himself teetering under a sudden wave of exhaustion. Trapping Match had taken more energy than he would have guessed.

Danes looked at Dubbelix as he spoke on his comlink. "We have it under control. No. No, he's alive. Pretty bad. I don't know. They're working on him now. I think we lost some 'morphs."

Ah. The tally of casualties. Of course. Without Jim, the security forces looked to Dubbilex for a report. Strange how that had happened. Dubbelix inclined his head. When Danes gave him an opening, he spoke. "Two trolls, the three gnomes from the lab below, and Guardian's. I will file their serial numbers."

Danes' face pulled with sorrow that Dubbilex did not understand. "Is Achilles ok?" Dubbilex must have looked at him with astonishment, because the g-elf himself came forward to answer the question, catching Dane's foot and sitting worriedly watching Jim. Dane's visibly relaxed. "Thank God," he muttered. "Yeah. Got that, Tanner? I'll report back later. Yeah."

That was…that was beyond odd. Dubbilex did not have time for the genuine relief at Achilles' safety, and the equally genuine _sorrow_ this man seemed to feel at the dead genomorphs he had never even met.

He did not have time for this. Let Achilles deal with harried security officers. Mention of his "death" brought Jake back to Dubbilex's mind. The gnome was in sharp pain now (were they trying to splint his leg? Dubbelix did not ask), but he gave a sharp, concentrated question.

Dubbelix sighed. _Jim lives. He will not feel pain now. They have stopped him. Disconnect from him now._

Jake's burns pulsed. Dubbelix felt the bleeding off pain of him, of Jim, of the dying troll through the wall. It was deafening, and it was miserable.

_Don't want to…_

A pitiful, quiet sound. Almost Jim's voice. Only Jim never spoke like that. Jake shuddered, rocking slowly back and forth to cope with sorrow, as he'd learned from his partner. A little piece of him, carefully stripped of the sensation of broken bones, brushed against Dubbelix, filled with worry and love and sorrow and fear.

Because whatever Jake was doing, he hadn't finished. And whatever it was, it had to do with Jim.

Dubbelix did not ask why Jake would not tell him. There was no time. _You must do it now. For his sake._ And, quieter, on a level far below thought and speech and any words he knew, he pressed a softer, firmer promise.

I will look after Jim.

Jake's mind was clear, even given the pain he was in. Focused. Dubbelix knew where he had learned that. The gnome grieved silently, without inflicting it on Dubbelix or any other gnome. He did not argue again. With deliberate care, he began to peel back the tethers that linked his mind to Jim's.

As Dubbelix had hoped, Jim did not wake, and did not know.


	15. The Box My Brother Built

Chapter warnings: mention of medical procedures, mind control of ambiguous morals.

This is my favorite chapter in this whole story. :) Oh my babies.

* * *

Cadmus regained its feet a warier, more vigilant organization. The first few days, with two department heads in recovery, power out on seven floors, eleven unpassable by humans, everything in shorn pieces, left everyone a mess of nerves. The humans felt without understanding the genomorph's grief at their fallen brethren, and the haze of short fuses and sorrow sat heavily on every mind.

Match was cryo-frozen before any knew who gave the order. Tanner grew still and furious when she heard. She would have dealt differently with the creature who had killed, and almost killed again. Dubbelix heard her many rehearsed arguments and accusations: a deadly weapon stashed below and no one had known, security given no information to make countermeasures. So they could do their job, keep people safe. Keep people from getting _killed_.

No, instead Match was frozen in a vault, out of sight, out of mind. The science department, the board of directors, the shadows of Cadmus would keep their secrets again, as if none of the "accident" mattered.

Dubbelix kept his own secrets. He respected her anger, but she would not remember long enough to act.

Jim was under work in the medical wing for three days, mind unresponsive. Dubbelix did not fret because Dubbelix never fretted. When he skimmed the doctors' minds, he found words he'd never heard: "stem cell," "bone culture," "regeneration." But the doctors felt little alarm after the first minutes, working calmly however sharp the implements they chose. Dubbelix was too young (had seen too many labs and not enough medical wards) to know what they did, only that they felt it would work.

In their heads, Dubbelix could hear Jim breathe, a thick, mechanical sound through tubes they'd put in his throat. These doctors believed this would fix Jim. Dubbilex had to believe with them, then.

The way they thought of Jim was strange and familiar. Detached and distant, in layers and saline levels, heart-beat graphs and electrical inputs. A sequence of bars and dashes meant Jim. They hardly knew the name of the man they patched together (and, really, when had names mattered to Dubbilex? His name was just XX on a file deep in the network).

As Jim slept, so did Jake. Their brothers had splinted Jake's leg, and he could not walk until it healed. Safe beneath the layers of Cadmus Dubbelix had carved a dark haven, and here Jake stayed, hibernating as he mended. Gnomes were not great healers, not meant recover. Jake's mind was slow, quiet.

Until, on the fourth night, he stirred Dubbilex awake. No reason beyond a quiet, urgent, _Jim._

He should not have been surprised that the gnome still held some connection to the man. Dubbelix did not ask, accepted Jake's core of worry for what it was. He was not so foolish to ignore the gnome again.

The medical wing was dark, heavy with the constant hum of machines. Dubbelix did not often come here, as genomorphs were not treated. But he was prepared nonetheless. The gap in the security cameras would last as long as he needed. His feet clicked on cold waxed tiles.

Jim's room tonight had no windows. It didn't matter, because the man's eyes were closed, as they had been since those strange, heavy words took him, since "the watch" ended. Dubbelix scanned the mess of wires and dressings and tubes wandering Jim's chest, moving as he breathed. They'd removed the oxygen equipment this morning. He breathed on his own.

But Dubbelix was reasonably sure they had not intended Jim to wake yet.

_Dubbelix…?_ Jim struggled to speak, but his throat would not obey him.

Dubbelix crossed to his side, somehow unsurprised Jim recognized him without seeing. _Hush. I hear you. Do not think so loudly._

He'd never felt relief like that from Jim, swift and sharp and tinged with something like fear. Unable to move or open his eyes, Jim had drifted for a long time in the dark, anchored only by his sense of touch – the straps and dully-aching stitches and cloth binding him together – and the sound of the machines. That would unnerve even a brave man. Dubbelix could not imagine being trapped so without telepathic connections to hold him steady. No wonder Jake had summoned him here. Too long could have driven a human mad.

Jim tried to speak again until Dubbelix nudged him in reminder. _Dubbelix, why can't I move?_

Dubbelix radiated peace, glad when Jim accepted the feeling. _Voluntary motion paths in your central nervous system seem suppressed. It will not harm you._ Jim's mind stilled uneasily. His grasp of medicine was rudimentary, littered with first-aid acronyms like CPR and AED. Enough to know the difference between sedation, and manipulating nervous systems.

_It is to help them treat you. I believe you have awakened ahead of schedule._ Dubbelix was unsure if he intended reassurance, and Jim took none. Jim could feel foreign things shifting in him when he breathed, something to do with bone and cells and regrowth, and he was too dazed to think about it deeply. Content with that dim haze shielding him, too, judging by something coiled and dreading he pushed far back in his mind to cope with later.

Jim didn't doubt he'd move again, just as he didn't doubt these doctors were trying to fix him. But Jim was not a fool. He remembered where Match had come from before breaking his bones.

_Jake?_

Dubbilex hadn't wanted that question. But Jim asked with such grim resignation that Dubbelix realized he expected a casualty report. Half-memories of teams and "acceptable losses" and grief hummed beneath the surface. Dubbelix frowned.

It shouldn't have mattered. He knew what they would do to Jim after he recovered. Jim wouldn't remember.

For the first time, that thought twisted something in Dubbilex, red and dark.

_He…he will be going away for a time, Jim._

To his surprise, Jim growled, grief-anger snapping like a whip. _Don't patronize me._ (My brother died before you were born.) _I know what happened._

If I failed, at least tell me to my face.

The spaces in Jim's mind where Jake had connected now gaped empty and stinging like wounds, like something carved out. The two had been meshed together a long time. Some adaptations were unavoidable. They'd grown around each other, like two trees. Jim knew Jake was gone.

Dubbelix huffed. Evidently he had not well considered human connotations of "gone away." He shouldn't have, he had too many brothers to do this for a human, but he linked a few tethers into the empty spaces. He'd been wrong, it seemed, that this would not pain Jim. Unfortunate. A few placeholders would make the void more bearable.

He did not bother to smooth the frown from his voice. _I have given him a vacation._

Jim hesitated. He could feel Dubbelix's displeasure, enough to judge his seriousness. _You can…do that?_

Because Dubbilex would make something like that up. He'd only learned the word from Jim the first place, for pity's sake. Dubbelix had to resist giving the matter an psychic push. Really, sometimes Jim could be rather thick. _Yes. He has been rather, what's the world you use? A "busybody" in terms of your recovery. Most time consuming._

The grumbling, strangely enough, convinced Jim more than the rest. He would have smiled if he could. Relief of a different kind lodged comfortably in his chest, between dull, throbbing bruises and healing wounds. _So he's…?_

_ Fine._

Or he would be. Dubbelix believed that, and what Dubbelix believed, Jim always would.

Jim didn't cling to the fear Dubbelix untangled from him. He lay quiet, thinking. Snippets flickered through Dubbelix's mind: Match, Achilles, Desmond, labs and closed spaces.

_Match._

Dubbelix tugged that name away from him, too. _Do not worry about him. It is over. You will not see him again._

Jim paused. His shoulder ached even now, if he thought too close to that day. His memory was jagged and rattled, but he knew enough. _He looks like Superboy._ With black-red, murdering eyes. Jim had never seen Superboy's eyes. Kr never opened them.

And when Match had (Jim was certain Match had not often opened his eyes before that day), he had killed, and tried to kill.

Slow, soft, Dubbelix felt the pain stir in the back of Jim's mind. He watched in morbid fascination as the ache unfurled strand by slow strand.

There…there hadn't been a wound there before. This pain glittered fresh and red. Match, even without telepathy, had…marked Jim, hurt him. Dubbelix drew a sharp breath. _He and Superboy are separate projects. There is no relation._

Jim could not wince at Dubbelix's curt tone. _I know._ But that didn't stop him thinking, and that made it worse.

Match was like Superboy. All Jim wanted was for Superboy to get out. But Match had tried to kill Jake. What would he do if Superboy…?

Now old scars were flaring, too, and Jim's mind trembled. Dubbilex had to stop this.

_Jim._

Jim almost didn't hear him. _Sorry._

Dubbilex shook his head. The apology was senseless, reasonless. Jim suffered. Dubbilex's frustration rose from Jim doing this to himself, every time, and Dubbilex being unable to explain. _Leave it be. _Another phrase, incidentally, he had learned from Jim.

It was a test. Dubbilex watched the command slip into Jim's mind, past consciousness and uncurling thoughts, torqued by pain. For a moment, the ache dulled.

But – there. Dubbilex's influence struck a smooth, clear wall buried inside Jim. The command could go no deeper. Sparks flew as the wall refused to give.

Jim flinched, thoughts scattered behind white spots. He couldn't gasp, only twist inside his own mind, because it _hurt._

Dubbilex frowned. Those were Jake's barriers. Layers of them by the feel of it, built like fortifications around something bright and painful at Jim's core.

Jake had hidden this from Dubbilex? This? Allowing Jim to suffer?

Jim shuddered. _Dubbilex…what makes a kid want to kill people like that…?_

How can I protect him from that when I can't even reach him?

Superboy's eyes could be black and Jake's bones had snapped and Jim had felt it, lying there unable to help. He couldn't move. Couldn't get to them. Failed. Failure.

Wrong.

Dubbilex grit his teeth on sorrow and anger, but did his best to shield the emotions from Jim. Selfish Jake! Why hurt Jim like this? Dubbilex reached out, nudging deep, to fill the painful space Jake had left behind. He now saw that Jake had always been there to manage this ache before.

(I can help.)

But only if he broke that barrier. When Jake taught Dubbilex how to build them, he had also lodged the knowledge of destroying them in his mind. Dubbilex could take this away.

Jim felt when Dubbilex wove into him. Somehow, strangely, he recognized the presence of another linking to his mind, and latched on to Dubbilex surprising strength. He held far stronger than Dubbilex could have guessed. Far more like Kr's quick, glad welcome than the unnoticing stirring of most humans. And that more than anything made Dubbilex wonder for the first time how much just how much Jake had drawn from Jim's mind as well as given.

Jim held on for a moment, suffering quietly. _I won't remember this in the morning, will I?_

Out of the blue, point blank. Jim asked without a touch of malic or anger, too tired. His mind whirled with weapons higher clearance level than him, and voices in his head, and Jake going away. Jim didn't expect to die, yet he understood that he could not still _know_ these things.

Or Jake had told him, and that would make the gnome an even deeper traitor.

Or…or Jim heard it in Dubbilex now, because a traitor part of the goblin _wanted_ to explain all, and he could not fathom how much of him Jim could or couldn't hear anymore, or how much of what he wanted was mere want and how much was _wishing_.

He wanted to end this. To not see all the wounds his family had carved in this man.

Or to apologize.

Useless sentimentality.

Dubbilex scowled. It shouldn't matter. The answer could not change; whether he lied or not Jim's fate was set. And whatever he said, Jim must believe him.

But, somehow, it did. Something about right and wrong and that Jim wasn't angry.

_No. You won't._

Another breath left Jim's throat, but he used it as a calm sigh. No surprise. The ache in his head was near unbearable, and he lay frighteningly calm, fighting it as he'd fought Match. Resolved. Clear. Focused. His mind reorienting around Dubbilex's points of contact. _All…All right. Do what you have to._

Before Dubbilex could answer, Jim's jagged, dark corners opened, baring the strange, gnarled landscape of his psyche as Dubbilex had never seen, every path clear.

Dubbilex froze. He could go anywhere. Jim wasn't closing off or hiding anything, all the mind's barriers of will and subconscious lowered. Jim was not clear, nothing in him could be; jagged pieces fell together wrong, and marks of mind-control and worse left a patchwork web of scars. Bits of Jim were brittle, like broken shards of glass. But Jim laid them all out, even those he himself couldn't recall or find, still and trusting and _choosing_.

Part of Dubbilex demanded to know who first carved these deep scars in Jim, so he could make them pay for this calm, shattered display. This could not be right.

Laying a hand near Jim on the bed, Dubbilex left his body, drifting deeper in the psychic landscape Jim opened to him with something like reverence. Such trust was a gift, one he may not have merited. He could not hope to receive the like twice in his lifetime.

Jake's box was buried deep. Dubbilex passed many things to reach it, flickers of red hair and 'hero,' Roy and Jake and William Harper the-brother-who-was-but-was-no-longer. How the shield sometimes felt heavy but sometimes felt as if it had been built for Jim long before he was born. How Jim never knew which was true, and which he'd dreamt up when he first took Guardian as his name.

(Knowledge, encyclopedia-like, of movements with that weapon and others, skills Dubbelix was unsure Jim remembered he knew. Knives. Arrows. Fists. Martial styles he'd watched Jim use without thinking.)

Two plants that Jim kept alive, and was relieved he did, because raising things and making them matter was something he did not know how to do.

(Knowing and not realizing how familiar these places sometimes felt, when his strange empathy with Kr reached deeper. Jim did not like lab coats, pods).

Jake filled something empty inside his identity, a constant presence in his mind, close and calming. Jim marveled. He hadn't remembered something missing there before. It felt…right, safe.

Dubbilex had done that to him, and was glad.

(It felt familiar. Dubbilex had never done that).

Jake's barrier was woven into the lower layers of Jim's psyche, unmistakably from Jake, but integrated into Jim. Dubbilex tested it curiously. Jim did not know it was there; it was too far down. Jake had wrought it well, smooth as few things in Jim's mind were, unobtrusive, and very strong.

Dubbilex found himself reluctant to disassemble it before he understood _why_ Jake had created it. A rather ridiculous notion. It was not safe, let alone right, for Jake to wall part of Jim from influence. Jim was not psychic, and Jake's barrier was too small to shield his actions and conscious thought. It could change nothing except how much Jim suffered.

_I figured it out._

Dubbelix started, because that was Jake's thought, speaking from the little ball of knowledge the gnome tucked into him during the battle with Match. Cautiously, Dubbilex unfolded the mess of thought and knowledge and hope, hearing what Jake had needed him to know, when he thought he would die.

_I figured it out. I figured _Jim_ out._

Jake had told him, in that moment, why he had learned to build those barriers. The two things he had tucked behind this wall.

One was a memory. A dark, scarred over memory, one Jim did not even subconsciously possess anymore. So deeply buried and hidden (purposely hidden by some telepath) that he might never be able to recall it. But Jake had found it. Tight, silent, close space, and tubes, and lab coats, and the inside of a pod. A telepathic presence all around Jim's mind, ordering down layer upon layer. Building.

Dubbelix stopped in surprise. Oh. Oh, that was not what he had expected to find so deep at all. That had never even crossed his mind.

_Brother._ Jake had whispered it when he found this memory, and Dubbelix echoed it now. Brother. Jim was…

But Jake's thoughts and feelings and _urgency_ overrode that revelation, because that was not why he'd built this box. Jim's first memory was merely linked to the other, more important pieces. Jake had created this barrier, this protective space, around something bright and close and warm at Jim's core. A mess of jagged pieces, bits and memories (some known and some not) and things like 'guardian' and 'protect' and 'trust,' all fused together into something stable.

Something whole. Clear. Focused.

Dubbelix could see it now, as Jake taught him to see through the walls without harming them.

_Jim._

That's what Jake called that mess. Jim.

Dubbelix looked, resting against Jake's barrier and feeling the memories and reasons built into it. He could see the snapped and twisted edges of the formation inside, where that carefully constructed (and reconstructed) foundation had been struck and darkened. Wounded and healed.

As Dubbilex's watched, that jagged, sure center flickered steadily, like a heartbeat. It creaked and slipped, pieces drifting dangerously past each other, and yet always on the downbeat it settled into a single strong shape, holding itself up from messy shards as a single unit.

Things that could not be changed. Protect. Warm. Promise.

Hero.

Dubbelix watched the command he'd pressed down break on Jake's barrier, passing around and on without changing that central structure. Everything else shifted with glassy crackling sounds, aligning quietly to Dubbelix's influence. Jim drifted without resisting, but little lightning-darts of pain marked the motion, strong enough that down this deep Dubbelix winced. He'd never noticed them before, because Jim did not consciously feel them.

The jolts worsened closer to Jake's barrier, dark and forked instants of suffering that the barrier blocked from its precious interior. There, and then just as quickly gone. But, however fast they were, however quickly Jim surrendered, they still hurt.

Those dark marks on the center, Jake murmured in memory, those came from the impact of such commands; Dubbilex's, Desmond's, Luthor's. Jake's. Dubbelix saw in Jake's memories, sparks flying and the edges crumpling, bent awry by the pressure of each order, but limping back into formation every time.

Jim was no psychic. He had no internal protection, whatever ill was forced on his mind. And it damaged him. Dubbelix knew the scars.

_Protect._ _Guard. Jim._

Jake had built it for him.

Dubbelix could not influence the core beneath that barrier. And, leaning against Jake's creation for Jim's sake, the g-goblin felt a emotion he never expected.

Jake had _betrayed_ the genomorphs. Shielded this deep part of Jim from their influence, even Dubbilex's. Dubbilex could no longer alter what was 'right.'

He knew how to deconstruct this barrier. Jake had put that knowledge into his head with the rest. Dubbilex's course of action should be clear. Any shielded part of Jim could prove a liability. And this caused Jim more pain. Dubbelix did not…want Jim to suffer.

And yet, and yet…those dark scars curled something like disgust inside him, and Dubbelix did not have the heart to tell if it came from Jake or from himself. Because Jim, the fundamental things that made Jim, was something good. Something _right_. And right things shouldn't have to suffer.

Not on their account.

That definitely came from Jake.

But Dubbelix accepted it anyway. He reached out, pressed gently against Jake's barrier, and with knowledge the gnome had given him while expecting to die, Dubbelix wove.

His work was thicker and clumsier than Jake's, for Dubbelix was unpracticed in this kind of caring, of protecting, and Jake had benefitted from a good teacher. But Dubbilex was a stronger psychic, and this allowed him to strengthen.

He hesitated before pulling back, to give time for changing a choice already made. Dubbilex did not do things by halves.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he picked through Jim's mind, gathering memories and feelings and understandings into a safe, chaotic little jumble near Jake's box.

He did not question what made him chose, only began weaving again, this time without a pattern but that in Jake's memories. A moment's difficulty, then he managed to form the shape to resemble a box.

Into his little box, Dubbelix pushed Jim's memories of Jake, of meeting the gnome, talking to him, caring for him, over a years' emotion and attachment, strong and sure in Jim's mind.

Dubbilex did not want that to fade. Because the gnome Jim met tomorrow would not be Jake. And Dubbelix had already seen what empty, unknowable and unknown pain pulling away a whole past could cause.

He may or may not have put with everything else a small, gentle sense of peace, of wellbeing, something to stave off grief. Jim would believe Dubbilex, always had, and there was no need for him to blame himself for this.

When Dubbelix sealed his small barrier it stayed in place, shielding that center from anyone's reach, even his own. Whatever happened Jim wouldn't worry about Jake.

Knowing that was safe, Dubbilex could move to his more disagreeable. He picked through Jim's memory, obscuring memories from the fight with Match, up through hearing Dubbelix's voice inside his mind tonight. This could have waited, but no gnome would be so careful with Jim's fragile psyche as Jake had. Dubbelix would keep his promise.

Jim did not shudder once under his touch, and when Dubbelix resurfaced the man was fast asleep, smiling.


	16. Independence Day

Chapter warnings: none!

* * *

Jim returned to active duty three days later, mostly recovered. He did not complain of the pain in his ribs when he breathed too fast, and he did not ask where the bandaged mess on his shoulder came from. He noticed but was unconcerned by lingering bruises on his neck, and pulled his shirt over them so his personnel wouldn't worry. All he wanted was to buckle on his shield and catch up on email backlog. To go and sit down with Superboy and chat all night, or lead a patrol with Achilles.

He smiled when Dubbelix came to see him, every time.

Dubbelix reported this and many other things to Jake when he could, to placate the gnome. Best give the gnome no reason to check himself. Jim had enough practice now to recognize telepathic presences. He'd withdrawn suspiciously from his new gnome, parts of his mind closing in ways they had not for a long time. The last thing Dubbilex needed was Jim recognizing Jake's touch and wondering where he was.

Jim called his new gnome Sam, though, and did care about it. He talked to it, patted its head, and scratched its ears, and it obliged him by answering to the name.

But when the headaches came, Sam did not know what to do, and Dubbelix did not bother explaining. Instead, the g-goblin reached out and steadied Jim, blunted the pain when he could, helped Jim withstand it when he couldn't. And Jim recognized him, then, and let him, opening deep places that once held onto Jake, and clinging to Dubbelix until he could again stand on his own. Dubbelix pretended not to notice those threads connecting him to Jim slowly grow stronger.

Dubbelix did not like the pain. But it was the least he could do, really, in return for what he gained. For, since Jim opened his mind to him that first time, Dubbilex had seen so much.

The night after each ache Jim suffered, Dubbelix sat in the dark and fed treasures to Kr. As best he could, he reiterated Jake's feelings for Jim, that prompted the gnome to defy everything he knew, and build a wall of will around a man. In Kr's mind Dubbelix taught _this_ as how to feel for Superman. Love. Loyalty. Adoration. Words he learned from Jim's heart, from watching that strange, beautiful, strong mess turning and slipping and reforming again and again.

He showed Kr family, Jim's feelings tied in red hair and 'Roy' and failure-but-love-anyway, the reason Dubbelix still eagerly awaited the day Jake could walk again.

And, at long last, Dubbelix thought he understood 'hero' enough to communicate the concept to Kr. In as many ways as he could, Dubbelix re-experienced the frenzied rush of emotion from that day, when Jim put Jake behind him and faced an invulnerable foe without shaking. All those things he watched reforge in Jim's messy identity every time they were broken. Every ounce of surety, of 'right' and 'protect' and 'guardian,' Dubbelix showed to Kr, and he glowed with hope when the boy accepted them.

This time, he felt sure. They would not fail.

* * *

They did not. Three weeks after the Match incident, Kr was ready, and Dubbelix plotted with Jake, mining Jim's memories of how best to attract heroes' attention. When the time came, they struck.

It put Jim in danger, yes. A necessary risk. But Kr knew better, Kr did not kill, Kr did not even hurt, not a single bone in Jim's body broke when he slammed into the wall, and Dubbelix was so _proud!_

The plan had some tight spots, but in the end all went perfectly. Kr ran, and fought, and _chose_, and his insides burned bright with 'right' and 'wrong' and 'hero,' so sure and firm that Dubbelix could have laughed aloud for joy. Kr understood. Kr was a hero. The genomorph hero.

And Kr chose freedom.

Soon, they would all be free!

Dubbelix would have lied to deny fierce, quiet joy when Sam withdrew from Jim's mind, and the man thought freely for the first time in over a year. The first thing Jim saw with unclouded eyes was Kr, and that, too, felt right. Jim did not remember much, but he remembered _Superboy_ enough to feel proud, to feel glad and relief and _protect_.

Desmond's reaction was _not_ a part of Dubbilex's plan, but after the first moment, he refused to be alarmed. He had enough protocols by now to efficiently whisk the genomorphs out of the way, sending Achilles to grab Jim after the man hit the wall headfirst. The helmet fortunately protected him from grievous injury, and only two of his ribs re-bruised. Really, Jim would be better off if he didn't insist on attacking people stronger than him. Still, at least the man breathed steadily this time. As Achilles sat curled around Jim, Dubbelix listened to the rain of thoughts from the fight above.

He believed the children would triumph. Each of them held 'hero' blazing and strong in their hearts, so much it had blinded him when first he saw them. That truth was something magical. It could drag Jim to breathe when his bones threated him with death. It taught Kr to defy his creators faster than most beings learned to walk. It would carry the day. He did not need to understand it to know.

Dubbilex's concept of perfection, however, proved an under estimation. Dubbelix had never expected the Justice League to come to Cadmus, to throw down the governing bodies and call an investigation. When Jim woke, he smiled more happily than Dubbelix had ever seen, and hurried forward to take responsibility.

Cadmus, it seemed, must certainly change, and not just because of Kr's disappearance.


End file.
